#how hes unwilling to kill if he has to look someone in the eyes but doesnt think twice about blowing up ships full of people

[saturnniidae]

I already kind of talked about this months ago but think it'd be really funny if a lot of Hiccup's kills in rtte are unintentional in the sense that he's so focused on freeing dragons he forgets that (if they don't die in the initial explosion) blowing up a ship and leaving people stranded miles away from any land is a death sentence and also that plasma blasting people is 99% of the time fatal.

What if the other riders all thought they were operating under the knowledge of they're killing dragon hunters to free dragons and Hiccup was the only one who wasn't fully aware of this because of his funny habit of prioritizing dragons over people, like he'd rather not kill people but also the safety of anyone but the dragons they're saving is Not at the forefront of his mind so it's not like he's careful.

[luveline]

i lowkey need to see stripper!reader and spencer again

for you gorgeous ♡ fem

cw adult themes

Hotch and Spencer draw attention at the strip club for the same reason but in varied fonts. They're both reminiscent of your regulars, Hotch the picture of a businessman with a wife to forget and steam to blow, and Spencer the silent sweetheart, pretty but too shy to talk to normal girls. 

He doesn't need a normal girl when he has you. 

You're glad for your cover up clothes as you lean against the dressing room door. One of the bouncers peers at you from the corner of his eye. 

"Trouble?" he asks. 

"Not sure. Probably not." You wave until Agent Hotchner notices you. To your delight, he raises his hand politely. 

You step around the bouncer and bypass the stage to the lighter area of the club where they stand in wait. "Hello. I could've met you outside." 

"Would you?" Agent Hotchner asks. 

You don't need him to explain. It's not the most professional thing, loitering in a club like this. You follow them out of the club and onto the street, cold even in your sweatpants as the wind rails. Spencer lets you squeeze his fingers in greeting, but that's all. 

"It's nice to see you again, Agent Hotchner," you say honestly, giving him a smile. 

He doesn't return the pleasantry, but Spencer swears he's softer than he looks so you choose to run with it as Agent Hotchner says, "We need information on one of your patrons." 

"Tennis Lawley," Spencer adds. 

"Tennis," you repeat. "I thought my pseudonym was bad."

Spencer gives you a quick look. I'd laugh if I weren't at work, it says. "We think he's involved in a string of killings in Washington DC. What do you know about him?" 

It's not an exaggeration to say you've played therapist for Tennis and a ton of guys just like him. Being a stripper, an exotic dancer, whatever anyone wants to call it (though Spencer usually just calls it your work) has pros and cons. You've felt it to be heavier on the con side, but this is a big plus, being able to assist someone you care about with something important. It makes you feel useful for once, like you're more than the froth of the city. "Ask me anything," you say, hiding your cheek from the cold with a deft hand. 

Spencer and Agent Hotchner ask you all sorts of questions, personal to their suspect and less so, and for the most part you're able to answer them. You can tell from the look on Hotchner's face that he's both surprised and extremely satisfied by your knowing, and he emphasises his thankfulness with a touch to your upper arm before he says goodbye. "Your help is invaluable, Y/N, thank you." 

Spencer, your sweetheart, stays for a more thorough farewell. 

"Have you eaten yet today?" he asks, the hand you'd squeezed earlier leaping for yours. "You look tired." 

"It's getting close to midnight, Spence. I'm alright. You and Agent Hotchner should head home and rest yourselves…" You bring your hand to his cheek but think better of yourself, pushing your arm over his shoulder instead for a hug. His own arms contract around you immediately. "I miss you lately, where have you been?" 

"Everywhere. I miss you too," he says. Despite the months of knowing one another, and the many states he's seen you in, you know without looking that Spencer is blushing profusely. 

You kiss his cheek as your heels return to safe ground. "Come and see me again soon, okay? And bring your rich friends. The older one, Rossi, is he really a millionaire? A divorced one?" 

"Yes, he is," Spencer says with a laugh, his voice climbing higher, "but I don't think he's looking for another wife right now, sorry." 

"Maybe Agent Hotchner–" 

"Stop calling him that." 

You look Spencer straight in the eye, nearly caught off guard by how sweet and soft they meld at your touch where your hands linger in his. 

You often think that you and Spencer aren't meant to be. Your life, whether willing or unwilling, by choice or design, is entirely focused around your body, and Spencer's world revolves around his mind. You know that what you do for work isn't anything to be ashamed of, but you have the same doubts as anyone else. You know what people think of you. You wouldn't blame Spencer for thinking the same things. And you wouldn't expect him to want to be with you in any aspect that wasn't physical. 

But when he holds your hands in his like this, as though they're made of something delicate, something he wants to map every detail or by fingertip alone, you wish things were different. 

You clear your throat. "I really do miss you when you're away," you confess. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Your hands miss his the millisecond you pull them away. "I guess I shouldn't keep you. Your boss will be wondering where you are." 

"Are you okay?" 

You can't even pretend it's a strange question; you're acting strange. "I'm fine, Dr. Reid. My nice new boss knows I know the feds, and all the girls are jealous of me when you guys come to visit. They think I'm on your payroll." 

Spencer quirks a puzzled frown, brows pulled together tightly. "You're harder to read than most people. Have I ever told you that?" 

"I guess it's 'cos I spend so much time pretending I'm a different person," you say, smiling to prompt him into smiling back. 

"Maybe." He pulls his bag from where it rests against his hip and opens it, rummaging through the contents with a confused murmur until he pulls out the shape he'd been looking for. "Here. Don't go to bed hungry, okay?" 

Spencer puts a protein bar in your hand. 

He steals a quick hug and leaves not long after that, crossing the dark parking lot to the mass of the dark SUV he arrives in. With one hand, you clutch the protein bar until it takes a new shape, and with the other you blow two sweet kisses, a cheesy, gaudy gesture that never fails to make your favourite special Agent blush. 

[rboooks]

DP x DC: Child Support

John Constantine has done a lot in his life. Some good, some bad but most have been dangerous.

He sold his soul to as many powerful beings as he could so that they could fight each other over it and keep him in a safe-ish stalemate. It was a risk, one where he had to sweet talk, maneuver, and sometimes seduce his way through, but he's always come on top.

Waking to his wards broken as easily as someone walking through a still river meant he had finally met his match. John woke to the Time looming over him in its adult form.

Clockwork, the physical concept of Time, smashed into a body and consciousness. It's so rare to see the god outside his tower; to even be in his presence was such a high honor that families would keep proof of the encounter for generations to brag about.

"Hello, Johnny," Clockwork said in his specialized adult form. The nickname curved with fondness. This form is an even rarer sight to behold. Clockwork looked about to be in his late twenties, dressed in a Victorian-era suit with dark black hair, he would look human were it not for his pure red eyes and time staff.

He looks gorgeous.

John smiled nervously. "Clockwork. What do I owe the pleasure?"

The ghost hums. "I have come to make a deal with you."

See, that's not something John would like to hear from the second-strongest being in the multiverse. He was second to the Ghost King. Some would even argue that Clockwork was stronger were it not for his desire to remain neutral in conflicts for the sake of different timelines.

"What kind of deal?" John asks with a lustful grin, running his eyes up and down Clockworks form. It looks like he may have to seduce his way out of this again and hopefully could convince the god of Time that he was a great time in bed instead of dead once more

The Master of Time appears amused but unwilling to climb under the sheets with him. Bollocks, if he wasn't back for another month of pleasure then the deal would likely be unpleasant.

Even if Clockwork could be considered a past fling, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't ask for something harmful. John had less powerful exes who would gladly have him killed just as likely as they would key his car.

To make thinga worst, Clockwork reached into his gentleman jacket to pull out a small jar. John's heart leaped in horror at what was inside.

"I have collected every piece of your soul through challenges, purchases, or even offerings. I own you entirely, John Constantine," Clockwork said, his warm tan skin rippling into blue as the Ghost turned the jar this way and that. "I wish to return it to you, with my added protection, should the old contracts which you swindled will not seek out revenge in exchange, you must take responsibility."

John can barely breath "Responsibility of what?"

Clockwork gestures behind him, and out of the shadows step a human boy. A human boy that looks precisely like human-Clockwork as a teenager but with John's eyes and the shape of John's nose.

No.

He knows that despite how similar they look, Humans and the citizens of the Infinite Realms aren't biologically the same. He just didn't think that meant this.

That he could be so careless it resulted in this.

Clockwork waves a hand between them. "Jonny meet your son, Danny."

John choked as Danny awkwardly waved at him. He even stuffs his hands into his pockets the same way John would stuff his hands into his trench coat.

This can't be happening.

"Our son is half human, and it's unhealthy for humans to remain in the Infinite Releams for long periods. I now require you to raise him on Earth until his core is ready. The day our son is of age, you will have your soul back with my Infinite protection. Danny will take the throne of the Infinite Realms upon his marriage so do help him find a good suitor."

Clockwork considers the rapidly paling human with large amounts of glee. "I trust this would be acceptable? I must warn you, I have raised him outside of time, so he is a bit behind with modern technologies and references. He also has a ghost form he must use for his health. Oh, and, Danny has a peanut allergy, so keep that in mind for his meals. If anything were to happen to Danny while he lives with you, I would erase this entire place and not through time manipulation. I will simply kill everything. Keep you alive so I can kill every version of those you love across the multiverse in front of you. Try not to slip away from your child support to prevent that, yes?"

John faints.

Danny Fenton had to be removed from his dimension to erase Dan from existence. His future self had nearly escaped the Clock tower they couldn't risk a second time. Clockwork had told him removing him from his dimension, his timeline, would never allow Dan to exist. It broke his heart but to save the many lives that Dan took Danny had agree.

His friends and family were devastated even if Clockwork told them Danny would be allowed visits. Just nothing longer than a week and six months between visits. He had moved into Clockwork's haunt, becoming an assistant to the master of time. He helped weave timeliness, and suggested possible choices for various creatures of various situations across the multiverse.

Danny helped Clockwork control fate, if that wasn't ridiculous. He even tried his ghost powers, to the point he felt he could truelt match his mentor in a fight.

He spent two years like this- or two years in his home dimension. Time didn't move in Clockwork's tower so despite the amount of time he lived there Danny didn't look a day over fourteen still. It irked him like nothing else to see Tucker and Sam as sixteen year Olds while he still looked like he was a freshman.

(It also hurt to see them move on without him.)

However, due to his halfa status, his human side was starting to fall apart. He needed sun, food, sleep, and other humans. He would go mad otherwise, and none of this would matter if it resulted in Dan.

Clockwork couldn't put him back home. He couldn't even put Danny in an alternate timeline, for he could not be close to people he knew.

He had to go to one that had no various of anyone Danny knew. Thankfully the Infinite Releams is connected to plenty of places that fit the bill. All Clockwork had to do was twist a few small events, and boom, Danny Fenton would have a perfectly legal background with everything he need for survive.

If only his mentor wasn't such a michivious prankster.

" You want me to pretend to be your love child with some random magic guy?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Trust me Danny, it's going to be hilarious."

(Part 2)

[pedrospatch]

to hell and back l two

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, reader has a flashback, mentions of slavers, implied threat of assault, guns, reader gets groped, reader has a panic attack, a lot of angst, trauma. soft Joel, protective Joel, and i even threw in some domestic Joel because just imagine that old man making you a nice lil late night snack. 🥹 i think i got most of the major warnings out of the way, i’m sorry if i missed anything!

Word Count: 8.7k

Smoke was coming off my jacket

and you didn’t seem to mind

I left a long trail of ashes and

you said, I like your style

California l Spring, 2023

Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

You’d never pointed your gun at another human being before. At least not one that was still alive.

“Hey now, it’s alright. You can trust us.”

Anxiously, you glimpsed from the man who had just spoken to the woman who stood beside him.

Surely the two had to be related. Both possessed the same fiery red hair, a face full of freckles, and vivid green eyes. They stood before you with their weapons lowered in an attempt to show you that they weren’t a threat to your safety. 

The man, who had to be in his mid to late thirties, moved to step forward, but halted in his tracks when he caught sight of the way your finger had twitched over the trigger. “My name is Mark,” he said, carefully gesturing to himself with his free hand. In his opposite hand, he clutched his rifle, an assault style weapon that made your gun look like a fucking toy in comparison. Still, it was you who had the upper hand, at least for now. “This here is my sister. Her name is Jessa.” He paused and when you said nothing, he asked, “Can you tell us your name?”

Chewing your bottom lip, you shook your head at him in response. 

You didn’t trust them.

Not quite yet.

Jessa, who was younger and looked to be closer to your own age, offered you a kind smile. “That’s alright. You don’t have to tell us your name until you feel comfortable.” She took a look around at the small, makeshift camp that you had made for yourself. “Are you all by yourself, sweets?”

You quickly wracked your brain. 

“No,” You fibbed. “I’m with my father. He should be back any minute now. He’s armed and he does not take all too kindly to strangers, so you’d best be on your way before he sees you.” You added in a steadier tone, “He won’t even think twice. He’ll just kill you on the spot, so you better leave right now. Or else.”

Amused, Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, come on now, dollface. You don’t have to lie to us,” he stated, shaking his head. “Let’s try this again and let’s be honest this time, alright? How long have you been alone?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed harshly. 

Fuck.

He had seen right through the bullshit threat. 

“For about three or four days now,” You admitted, your shoulders sagging in defeat. “I was with my father and my sister. The three of us were on our way up north. We were trying to get to Seattle to the quarantine zone, but then they were—”

You suddenly stopped.

It felt like someone had driven their fist right into your gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs and hindering your ability to speak.

You couldn’t even say it out loud.

Gruesome images of them being torn apart limb from limb flashed through your mind. Bile slowly started climbing its way up your throat and your stomach churned violently.

You were going to be sick.

“Are they both dead?” Mark questioned you.

You nodded, whispering shakily, “Yes.”

Jessa frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey. If it’s any consolation, me and Mark know exactly how it feels. We lost our entire family about three years ago. It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever been through.” Swinging back her own rifle behind her, she approached you and reached out, placing her hand over yours—the one that was still clutching your weapon. She didn’t even so much as flinch at the way the barrel was now pointed at her, how it was just an inch or two away from her chest. It didn’t seem to faze her that all it would take was you bringing your index finger down a bit harder on the trigger and she would be dead. “We know you must be fucking terrified, but it’s okay. You can trust us. We’re good, honest people and we just want to help you. But we can’t do that if you try and kill us, now can we?”

Slowly, Jessa guided you to lower your gun. She then looked over her shoulder, exchanging a look with her brother, as if asking him to back her up.

“Yeah. She’s right. We just want to help you,” he repeated after her. “We aren’t going to hurt you. If we wanted to, we probably would have by now, don’t you think so?”

You let out a tiny breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding and loosened your iron grip on your pistol.

He did make a fair point.

Now that your gun was pointed at the ground, he could have easily killed you. And yet, he’d made no move to blow your fucking head off. 

Maybe they really were good people.

But what if they weren’t?

What if it was just a trap?

You didn’t know what to fucking think.

All you knew was that you were so helplessly lost now that your family was gone.

You were afraid.

Alone.

Jessa turned back to you. “Listen, we’re part of a settlement,” she informed you. “It’s not all too far from here, maybe six or seven miles tops. We’ve got a really big group of people and we’re always looking to bring in anyone in need. Come with us, sweets. There’s plenty of food, water, and we can you into some fresh, clean clothes too. How does that sound?” 

You momentarily hesitated, still unsure whether or not you could trust the two strangers. 

How did it sound?

It sounded too fucking good to be true.

“It’s a safe place,” Mark assured you from behind her. He could see the reluctance written all over your face. 

“It’s as safe as safe can be,” Jessa promised. She touched your arm and flashed you another smile, one that was more kind than the first—one that was so comforting it made you feel like you could actually trust her. “So? What do you say? Will you come back with us? Will you let us help you?”

You nervously bit the inside of your cheek.

Scared, starving, and exhausted, their offer for a safe haven was much too tempting to decline.

Besides, how long could you possibly survive out here all on your own?

“Alright,” You finally agreed after a moment. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s just one condition,” Mark stated, falling into step beside his sister in front of you. “We’re going to need you to hand over your weapon.”

“What?” You stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s protocol,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at you. “It’s purely for safety reasons. Anyone who comes into our group must surrender their weapons. We want to be sure that we’re bringing in someone who isn’t going to be a threat to our people. We have children, so we just want to be cautious, you know?”

“I guess that does makes sense,” You admitted. 

“You’ll get it back,” Jessa reassured you. “Once you speak to the council and they determine you aren’t a threat, you’ll get your gun back. Okay?”

Left with very little choice, you agreed. “Okay.”

Mark held out his hand for the weapon.

Slowly, you placed your pistol in his open palm.

“Perfect.” Jessa chirped. “Now grab your things and let’s get going. If we hurry up, we can make it back before nightfall.”

Nodding, you turned around to grab your pack. 

The second you turned your back, the barrel of the same gun you’d just handed to Mark poked you between your shoulder blades and you froze, your blood running cold in your veins.

“Hands up, bitch,” Jessa commanded. Her warm and friendly tone had vanished. “And turn around towards me slowly. Now.”

Terrified, you did as you were told and you lifted both of your hands, turning around on the heel of your sneaker to face her.

Her expression, much like her tone, was frigid.

Hostile.

“You’re going to do exactly as I say when I say it.” She held up her rifle, aiming it at you. “And if you don’t, you fucking die. Do you understand?”

“Please,” You choked out. “Don’t—”

“Do you fucking understand?” Jessa repeated in a hiss, her finger hovering over the trigger. When she was met with a small, meek nod, she turned to look at her brother. “Cuff her.”

Mark smirked. He tucked your gun away into the waistband of his jeans and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of rusted handcuffs. He walked around and stood behind you, instructing, “Hands behind your back.” Once he had both of your wrists in one hand, he used the other to slip on the cuffs, tightening them so hard that the old oxidized steel dug painfully into your skin. “She’s a pretty one,” he murmured. As soon as he made certain the cuffs were securely fastened, he put a hand on your ass, groping it roughly. “Oh, you’re going to be popular with the guys, dollface. Kind of makes me want to break you in, right here and right now—give me a few minutes with her, Jess.”

Completely paralyzed with fear, all you could do was stand there in silence as his hands continued to roam your lower body, feeling you up through your jeans. He squeezed at your inner thigh, then brushed up over your zipper.

“Mark! That’s not what she’s for, you idiot,” Jessa reminded him, rolling her eyes. “Now quit fucking around and let’s start heading back to camp.”

She whirled around and started leading the way.

Mark grinned and pressed his mouth to your ear as he whispered in cruel reassurance, “Don’t you worry, now. I’ll get my chance with you—we’re all going to our chance with you.”

He grabbed you by your upper arm and roughly shoved you forward, leading you to what would inevitably be hell on earth.

Joel leans against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes are fixed intently on you, carefully observing you from where he stands, more so out of concern rather than curiosity. Something isn’t right.

It’s late in the afternoon and the two of you had been about halfway into the six hour trek down south to Jackson when Joel offered to stop for a while, just long enough for the both of you to rest and take a quick breather, find a second wind before finishing the journey—but as he continues watching you, Joel starts to realize that perhaps stopping had done you much more harm than it’s done you good. 

Just a few feet away from where he’s standing and keeping a watchful eye on you, you sit perched on top of a small, flat boulder hugging your knees up to your chest with both hands wrapped tightly around the grip of your pistol. 

You’re in a trance like state, staring straight off into the distance at nothing in particular. Your face is completely blank. Emotionless. It appears that while all the lights are on, nobody is fucking home. 

Squinting against the sunlight, Joel takes a closer look at you. He sees it so clearly, the faraway look in your eyes. 

You are gone. You’ve checked out and completely disconnected from reality. 

He would go as far as saying you’ve disconnected from this fucking planet.

You’re sinking, slowly drowning in some kind of thought or perhaps it was a memory—whatever it is that’s currently preoccupying your mind, it sure as hell isn’t anything good. He has no fucking clue how he’d managed to clock it so easily, so quickly, but Joel had sensed something was wrong the instant you’d drifted off. 

The deeper you go and the further you lose yourself, the harder your hands clutch at your grin, the thin delicate skin on your knuckles stretching taught over the bones. It’s not until Joel notices the way your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as your breaths quicken, the way you start struggling for air, that he knows it’s time for him to intervene before you worsen and suffocate under the weight of whatever it is that’s sitting so heavily on you. 

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joel begins to approach you, taking extra care so as not to spook you into turning your pistol on him and pulling the trigger in a moment of panic. He lifts both of his hands and holds them out in front of him. Cautiously, Joel makes his way over towards where you’re sitting on the boulder, his footsteps slow and careful. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, keeping his tone firm, but somehow still gentle as he tries to garner your attention. When you don’t even acknowledge him or his presence, he tries again, speaking a little bit louder. “Hey. S’okay. S’alright. Everythin’ is alright—come on back now.” Joel draws closer and closer to you, taking tiny step after tiny step on the steel toes of his worn, black leather boots. “S’alright, darlin’. I need you to come back to me now, okay? You ain’t where you think you are. You’re alright—”

The sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot startles you. Jumping to your feet, you aim your gun at him with shaking hands and wild, terrified eyes. 

Even as your finger trembles over the trigger, Joel remains calm. “Hey, c’mon. Take it easy. S’okay. You’re alright. Look, it’s me. It’s just me and I ain’t gonna do anythin’ to hurt you,” he swears. He shows you his empty hands, hoping that you would be able to snap out of it and realize that he isn’t a threat. That you aren’t in any kind of danger. But as you hold your weapon, chest heaving as you panic, Joel knows it doesn’t matter that his hands are empty. It doesn’t make a fucking difference. He knows it isn’t him who is standing in front of you.

It’s someone else. Whoever you were seeing standing there in his place, it’s someone who had done god knows what to you. Joel has a gut wrenching hunch it had something to do with the marks he’d seen around your wrists back at the cabin. The mere thought of it is enough to send an unpleasant chill up and down the length of his spine. 

Joel speaks again. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He feels the sudden urge to reach out for you, but knowing it would be unwelcome, he resists it. All he can do is try and use his words to bring you back to the present. Back to him. “Breathe. You’re safe. I need you to breathe, can you do that for me? Do you think you can breathe for me, darlin’?”

Somehow, his voice penetrates its way in through the thickness of the white fog that you’d been lost in. You had been stumbling around helplessly in it, desperately searching for a way through. Joel’s heavy, deep Southern drawl permeates the memory, causing the haunting images from that fateful day when your life had taken a sharp turn for the worst to dissolve into nothing. 

“Just breathe. Nice and slow. Inhale through your nose, then out through your mouth. Easy does it.” Joel controls his own breathing, slowing it down to demonstrate. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales slowly through his mouth. 

You stare at him with wide eyes as you fight to get the rise and fall of your chest to match his. How the hell do you know what to do? 

Joel can practically hear your question ringing in your mind amidst the chaos. “My kid, she gets these awful nightmares sometimes. Wakes up in a panic thinkin’ she’s somewhere else, somewhere she ain’t safe. So my brother’s wife, Maria, well she was kind enough to show me what to do whenever it happens. She taught me a couple different breathin’ techniques that help soothe Ellie and calm her down. Told me it helps if I do them with her,” he explains to you. He can tell that you’re now coming out of the worst of it and that you’re finally starting to get some oxygen back into your lungs. He lowers his hands. Your pistol is still aimed at him, but Joel trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off. “C’mon, breathe. There we go. That’s it. Easy does it, now. In through your nose and out through your mouth, that’s it. That’s a good girl.” 

It takes you a good minute or two, but your breaths fall into sync with his own and before you know it, the two of you are breathing together in harmony. 

Oh. You’re not in California.

The man standing before you doesn’t have red hair and green eyes. He doesn’t have that twisted smirk on his face. He isn’t putting his hands on you. He’s not hurting you. He’s helping you. 

Swallowing dryly, you lower your weapon. Your gaze meets Joel’s and somehow you find the courage to look him in his eyes for the very first time. Even though you had turned your gun on him, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it all. He isn’t upset or angry. The look of worry on his face has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you could have easily killed him just now. It’s as if he’d known for certain that you wouldn’t pull the trigger.

“There we go,” Joel says after another minute passes by. “You see? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

There’s comfort in his words, in his deep brown eyes.

Fuck, there’s comfort in him. 

Still. Your mind refuses to allow you to accept it.

At least, not completely. 

Averting your gaze, you shuffle your weight from one foot to the other and then back again. 

Joel clears his throat lightly. “It’s gettin’ real late,” he murmurs. “We should get a move on. We’ve still got a bit of a way to go and we really don’t wanna get ourselves caught out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere after dark for too long, y’know?”

You give him a small nod and start to gather up your belongings. You pick up your canteen, which is now almost completely empty after you’d shared your water with him during the first leg of the hike, and shove it into one of the side pockets of your back.

“S’kinda cold,” Joel states. “And it’ll only get colder as nightfall approaches. You, uh—you warm enough in that little denim jacket?”

You shrugged a shoulder at him, not thinking anything much of the question. I’m fine. 

However, as if on cue, a chilly breeze blows its way through Wyoming’s plains, causing you to shiver.

Joel quickly shrugs out of his brown jacket. “You mind if I—?”

You toss him a confused glance. 

Do I mind if you what? 

Joel steps towards you and lifts his arms as if he’s going to put them around you. Flinching, every muscle in your entire body goes rigid and he halts. “S’alright. I’m just gonna give you my jacket, that’s all,” he assures you, his arms frozen midair. He patiently waits for a small nod of approval. Once he has it, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and then takes several steps back, giving you your space. “Should keep you from freezin’ your ass off out here.”

As he turns around and walks over to where he had set his rifle down, you stand there somewhat stupefied over what he’d just done. Something so simple, and yet you can’t seem to wrap your fucking brain around it. 

Willing yourself to move, you carefully slide both of your arms into the sleeves of his jacket, wrapping it around your body. The scent of him, a mixture of earthy sandalwood and whatever soap he uses to wash his clothes, fills your senses and a strange, but pleasant warmth radiates throughout your chest, gradually spreading itself to the rest of your body from head to toe. 

Ignoring the feeling, you pick up your backpack along with your bow and quiver of arrows, slinging everything over your shoulders. 

Joel slings the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and turns back to you. “Ready to get goin’?”

Pistol in hand, you gesture for him to go ahead and walk in front of you, much like he’d done for the first half of the trip.

He lets out a small sigh. “Alright, I get it. Still don’t fully trust me. Well, we’ll keep workin’ on that, then.”

A couple of hours had gone by. The slanting rays of the setting sun give a warm orange tinge to the skies as late evening begins settling itself in. 

“Y’wanna know somethin’?” Joel asks, breaking the silence between you.

You look up at the back of his head, your eyes fixing themselves on his mop of thick, unkempt salt and pepper waves. Occasionally, as you’d been slowly trudging along behind Joel, you stole glimpses of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and brushed against the collar of his henley.

Despite the lack of a response, Joel continues to talk. “Earlier at the cabin, just when I was startin’ to come back around, I heard a woman singin’ to me. At least, it sure seemed like she was singin’ to me. It was a real pretty song too.” He glances over his shoulder at you with curiosity. “Was that you?”

You blink at him, keeping a straight face. 

“Hm, no I s’ppose it wasn’t you,” he answers his own question. He turns his attention back to the path ahead of him. “I reckon that it must have just been some sorta dream I had while I was out cold. But it sounded so vivid, y’ know? It sounded so fuckin’ real. And the strangest part of it all is that I don’t know how it’s even possible for me to dream of a voice like that,” he muses aloud. 

Oh? Unable to help yourself, you move yourself from behind Joel and fall into step beside him. Now it’s you that’s riddled with curiosity. What do you mean by that? 

Joel glances down at you. He grips the leather strap of his rifle and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a voice quite like that in my whole entire life,” he tells you. He shrugs once more, his arm brushing against yours by accident. Joel half expected you to deck him for it, but much to his surprise, it doesn’t seem like his touch had bothered you. “It was too fuckin’ gorgeous. So beautiful that part of me wonders if it was someone or somethin’ out of this world.” He pauses and peered at you, detecting a slight glimmer of light in your eyes. “Felt like I had a real life angel singin’ to me.”

You feel the corners of your lips threatening to turn upwards into a smile. Turning your face away from him, it takes everything you had in you to force them back down. 

“Well look at that. You’re walkin’ right next to me,” Joel observes after a minute, raising an eyebrow. 

Your head whips back around.

“Must mean that I’m doin’ somethin’ right, huh darlin’?”

You snort and roll your eyes.

I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.

Still, you remain at his side. 

The rest of the trek is silent.

Night had just fallen by the time that you and Joel finally made it to Jackson. The moment that you set your sights on the massive wooden gate out in the distance, your heart begins to pound, slamming against your ribcage.

The closer the both of you draw to the barrier, the easier it is for you to see the men and women who are standing on a platform on top of the gate, heavily armed as they keep watch—their lights illuminate the perimeter of the settlement and light up the velvet purple sky. 

You stop dead in your tracks. Oh fuck that.

Joel shakes his head. “S’alright. Don’t be scared.”

There’s six people standing on top of that gate armed with fucking assault rifles. And you don’t expect me to be scared? Are you for real?

“Look, things might be a little tense at first when the patrolmen see us,” he admits, raking a hand through his hair. “None of them have any idea that I’m still alive, but as soon as they see that it’s me, they’re gonna stand down. All I need is for you to stay calm and follow my lead, alright?” He nods at the pistol in your hand. “M’also gonna need for you to put your gun away and out of sight.”

You glare at him, your eyes flashing angrily in the darkness.

You said I could have my weapons on me. 

Joel holds up his hand. “I promise that I ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you, alright? I swear it on my fuckin’ life,” he vows. “You have my word. No one’s gonna hurt you. I won’t let them. Just stay calm and do as I say. Please,” he adds, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. “Y’think you can do that for me?”

Your mind is screaming, begging you to run and run fast. Instead, you find yourself reluctantly tucking your gun into the waistband of your jeans, concealing it just like Joel had asked you to do. 

“Stay behind me,” he instructs, shoving his own rifle behind him. He begins leading the way towards the gate and beckons for you to follow close. 

The second the two of you step out from the darkness and into the light, the sound of firearms cocking breaks through the silence of the night. 

“Stop right there!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Freeze! Or we’ll fucking shoot!”

“Melissa, it’s me!” Joel calls out, holding up his hands. “It’s Joel!”

“What?”

He huffs and yells again, “It’s Joel!”

“Wait a goddamn minute, everyone fucking stand down!” Melissa loudly barks the order at the five other patrol men and women who are standing on either side of her with their firearms aimed and at the ready. “Joel? Joel Miller, is that really you?” She leans her body forward over the gate and squints at him, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Well butter my fucking ass and call me a goddamn biscuit, the man is fucking alive! Quick, open up the gates! Somebody go and get Tommy! Let’s go, fucking move it people!”

Joel drops his hands, sighing in relief.

You, on the other hand, are scared shitless and wonder if it’s too late to make a run for it. 

“Remember,” he says, looking back at you. “Calm. Okay?”

You force a small, tight nod of your head. 

Okay. 

The gate’s doors pull apart and he leads you up to them and through to the other side where you and Joel are met with a frantic crowd of at least two dozen people—the obnoxious, overlapping chatter coupled with the blatant stares you’re receiving cause an overwhelming feeling of anxiousness to wash over you in a massive wave that, if you allow it, is going to drown you right there on the spot. Refusing to make eye contact with anybody, you fix your gaze on Joel, keeping it focused on the broadness of his back as more and more people circle around the both of you, caging you in with nowhere to run. 

“Joel!” Melissa elbows her way through the large crowd, rushing up to him. She grabs him by the arms, giving him a quick once over. “Holy shit! We thought you were fucking dead! I can’t fucking believe it!”

“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asks her.

“At home with Maria. Lisa went to pull him out of bed—where the hell have you been, Joel? It’s been three fucking days!”

Joel purses his lips together tightly. He can feel you inching yourself forward, trying to stand as close to him as possible as more people join the scene. The toes of your boots touch the heels of his, your chest lightly brushing against his back. While Joel doesn’t blame the people of the town for being curious, he isn’t all too fond of the way they’re staring at you—the gestures and the finger pointing, the mutters and the whispers. He doesn’t have to see you to know it’s making you uncomfortable, and his priority is to get you out of there and somewhere where you would feel safe. “Listen, it’s a real long story that I ain’t got time for right this minute. I need Tommy—”

“Miller!”

A loud, booming voice comes from behind Melissa.

It belongs to a tall, bulky blond haired man—his mere presence is intimidating, proven by how it had taken absolutely nothing for the crowd to part and make room for him to pass through. Smirking, he saunters up to Joel and remarks, “I thought you were a fucking goner.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. 

The tension between the two men could be sliced with a fucking machete.

His blue eyes flit over Joel’s shoulder to you. “Well, well, well. Who is this sweet little lady?”

You step even closer to Joel, pressing yourself against his backside and taking a fistful of his shirt.

“None of your fuckin’ business, that’s who.”

Keith’s smirk widens. “Actually, as head of safety and security for this community, it fucking is my business,” he reminds him. “She infected?”

Joel raises his eyebrows. “Does she look fuckin’ infected to you?”

“You know the commune’s rules, Miller.” Without tearing his eyes away from you, Keith calls over his shoulder, “Bring out one of the hounds! Now!”

Behind him, Joel hears a small gasp.

Hounds?

Joel whirls around. “Hey, s’alright,” he says quickly before you can start to panic. “We have dogs that have been trained to sniff out the cordyceps infection. S’just gonna smell you, that’s all.”

The crowd backs away as a woman with cropped hair brings out a large black dog on a chain leash attached to a brown leather harness. Once it catches sight of you, the unfamiliar newcomer, the animal begins to bark and growl, thrashing around as it tries to lunge towards you. The dog tugs and pulls at his leash so violently that he nearly knocks his handler over. The woman unclips the leash and sets the dog free—it approaches you, snarling and baring its teeth. 

You start to back away, but Joel stops you.

“Relax,” he mutters to you under his breath. He moves to stand beside you and holds out his hand, offering it in an attempt to comfort you and ease the fear. He hadn’t expected you to accept it, so when you place your hand in his and lace your fingers with his own, he’s taken by complete surprise. 

You squeeze his rough, calloused fingers as the dog comes closer towards you. Nervously, you hold your other hand out to it, prompting it to snap at you, its teeth snapping together. Somehow, you muster enough courage to hold your hand steady and the animal growls, but then gives it a sniff. When it doesn’t detect what it’s searching for, the dog happily wags his tail and gives your hand a friendly lick before running back over to its handler who puts the animal back on the leash. 

You breathe out in relief. 

“There,” Joel snaps at Keith. “You satisfied?”

Keith clicks his tongue. “Almost,” he drawls. He walks over to you, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name, dollface?”

Your stomach drops at the nickname. Looking down at the dirt, you don’t reply.

“Aw, she’s shy! Well isn’t that just adorable.” Keith lets out a raspy laugh, causing a couple of the onlookers to laugh along with him. “What’s the matter, sweetie pie? Hm? Cat got your tongue?”

Joel drops your hand, his nostrils flaring. “Back off asshole or else—”

Ignoring him, the blond patrolman eyes the weapon hanging on your shoulder. “That’s a really nice bow you’ve got there,” Keith states, cutting off Joel’s threat. “But we do have rules here. Newcomers have to surrender their weapons so they can be stored away securely. We don’t know you and until we can know for sure you won’t be a threat to the people of this town, you’re going to have to surrender that bow along with all other weapons you’re carrying.” Keith lowers his voice as he adds, “And I would advise you not to try and hide anything because I’m going to be the one to pat you down—and I’ll be thorough. I don’t take all too kindly to liars, so keep that in mind.”

“You just threaten her in front of me?” Trying his hardest not to cause a scene with so many people watching the three of you, Joel keeps his voice low and quiet—but the sharp, dangerous edge to his tone can’t be missed. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Keith responds, innocently. “All I was doing was letting her know how we work around here in Jackson. We’ve been operating the town the same way for years now for a good reason. The rules we set in place apply to any and all newcomers, regardless of who they came here with.” He holds out his hands to you. “Surrender all of your weapons to me. Now.”

Shaking your head, you take a step back. This was not what you’d agreed to. This wasn’t the promise that Joel had made you back at the cabin. 

Joel glares at him. “She ain’t surrenderin’ a goddamn thing—”

It’s too late.

Keith steps towards you and goes for the bow. As his hand shoots out to take it from your shoulder, you quickly turn your body and swiftly dodge it. He feels his face burn with red hot anger as several onlookers gasp at your act of rebelliousness. Furious, Keith reaches for you again and grabs you, taking the upper part of your arm in a harsh grip that makes you squeak out in pain. 

You lift your opposite arm and swing a curled fist up towards his face, but he catches your wrist in his other hand before it can connect with his jawline. 

Joel!

You try to say his name, but you fucking can’t. 

Your mouth opens and nothing comes out. For as hard you push and try to force it, you can’t find your voice. Instead, all that falls from your lips is a pathetic, strangled little cry. You yank and pull, struggling as you try to tear yourself out of Keith’s grasp. 

Livid, Joel nearly goes fucking blind with rage. He snatches Keith by the collar of his leather jacket, ripping him away from you. Though he’s still sore as from the fall off of his horse three days ago, he uses every ounce of strength he has left in him to throw him down into the dirt at the feet of a fellow patrolman named Wyatt. “Don’t. Fuckin’. Touch. Her.” He barely manages to bite out the words through gritted teeth. “Ever.”

Wyatt helps him up to his feet. “You alright, man?”

“Get the fuck off me!” Keith snarls, pushing him away. His chest is heaving and his face turns a deep shade of red. Whether it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s angry, no one can quite tell the difference. One thing is for damn sure, he isn’t used to someone going against his authority and everyone watching holds their breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. After all, the man going against him happened to be their leader’s brother in law. “What the fuck is your goddamn problem, Miller? It’s protocol—”

“Not today it ain’t.”

Keith approaches him, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He stands so close that the two of them are chest to chest, ready to tear each other to shreds. “Do you think just because your fucking brother is second in command, you can just do as you please? Is that it?” He questions, bitterly. “It doesn’t fucking work like that. We have rules set in place for a reason, Joel. We are going to do this by the fucking book whether your little girlfriend here likes it or not, got it?”

Stepping around him, he starts towards you but Joel is quick to block his path. He stands in front of you and squares his shoulders.

He speaks, his voice dangerously low. “You listen and you listen good. If you even so much as think about layin’ another fuckin’ finger on her, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of tonight pickin’ up your teeth off the ground. You understand me?”

“That a threat?”

“It ain’t a threat. It’s a fuckin’ promise.”

Keith pulls his arm back and he’s about ready to take a swing when he’s stopped by the sound of Tommy Miller’s frantic voice. 

“Joel! Where is he—where the fuck is Joel?”

The much younger, raven haired man approaches the scene, shrugging a blue denim jacket over his cotton white t-shirt. The instant that he spots Joel, he runs up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders. “Fuckin’ Christ, I thought I fuckin’ lost you out there! What the hell happened?”

“Where’s Ellie?” Joel demands. “She okay?”

“She’s fast asleep at my place with Maria and the baby. She’s been with us this entire time.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief.

Tommy looks around, frowning. “What’s going on? What’s everyone doin’ out here?” He then sees you and raises his eyebrows at his older brother. “Joel? Who’s that?”

“Look, I’ll explain everything, can we just—can we talk in private?”

Although he’s confused, Tommy nods. 

“Of course. C’mon, let’s go back to my place.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tommy states as soon as Joel had finished recounting the story—well, what he could remember, anyway. It wasn’t much.

You’re sitting beside Joel across the table from Tommy and Maria in the kitchen of their home. All three of them speak in quiet, hushed voices so as not to wake Ellie and Samuel, Tommy and Maria’s infant son. Maria had offered to go upstairs to pull Ellie out of bed so that she and Joel could reunite, but when Tommy mentioned tonight had been the first night since Joel had gone missing three days ago that she had finally managed to fall asleep, everyone agreed it would be best to wait until the morning. 

“So, she saved your life,” Tommy concludes. His brown eyes, even darker than those of his older brother, flicker over to you once again. You sit there in complete silence, staring at the top of the wooden table, refusing to meet his gaze—or that of his wife. 

Joel nods. “She did, Tommy. I don’t fuckin’ know how, but what I do know is that if it wasn’t for her, then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here at this table right now.”

You shuffle uncomfortably in your chair. Though the couple had been kind to you, it didn’t make it any easier when they stared at you like you had a second head. 

“She saved your life and you don’t even know her name?” Tommy’s in complete disbelief.

“No. She doesn’t talk.”

Maria hums. “I have an idea. Let me find her a notepad or something to write on,” she suggests after a minute. She stands up, wrapping her cotton blue robe around herself, concealing her pajamas as she walks over to the kitchen counter. It takes her a bit of digging around, but in one of her junk drawers, she finds a pen and a small notepad. She makes her way back over to the table and sets the items down in front of you. “Can you write down your name for us?”

You don’t move a single muscle.

“It’s okay, honey. Just write down your name—”

“Best we don’t push her too much,” Joel warns her, holding out his hand to stop her from coming too close into your space.

You glance up at him, your lips parting slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you. “You ain’t gotta tell us anythin’ until you’re good and ready. Alright?”

Tommy clears his throat. “Joel? Can me and you have a quick word in private please?”

Your heart skips an anxious beat.

No, wait! Please don’t leave me.

Less than eight hours ago, you’d been wary of this man, unable to fully trust him. Now, just the mere thought of him leaving your side puts you on edge.

“S’fine, we’re just gonna be out in the hallway,” he assures you. “It’ll only be for a minute or two.”

Realizing you didn’t want to be left alone with her, Maria jabs a thumb over her shoulder towards the gas powered stove. “I’m going to make myself a hot cup of chamomile tea. I can boil water for an extra mug if you’d like some?” she offers, warmly.

You’d turned down food and water already, much too afraid to accept anything from her. However, a warm drink did sound tempting and truth be told, Maria did seem like a nice woman. She’s Joel’s family—maybe it wouldn’t hurt to at the very least try and trust her too. 

Finally, you nod your head.

“Great,” Maria smiles, looking pleased. “I think it’ll do you some good. Chamomile is very soothing. It helps me relax—something that’s hard to do when you have a fussy six month old,” she kids as she whirls around and goes about preparing the tea. 

After making certain that you’ll be fine without him, Joel follows Tommy out into the hallway. 

“Joel, what were you thinkin’ bringing her here?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy sighs. “We need to be careful about who we bring into Jackson—”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now? You worried about this girl bein’ a threat?” Joel stares at him in complete shock. “You serious, Tommy?”

“For all we know, she could be a threat. She didn’t want to give up her weapons, Joel! She even took a swing at Keith!” He hisses. “And she did it in front of a fuckin’ crowd!”

“He put his fuckin’ hands on her—”

“She didn’t cooperate, Joel. You know damn good and well what happens when someone isn’t willin’ to cooperate with the rules. It leads to nothin’ but trouble and you know it as well as I do,” Tommy says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Her first impression here wasn’t a good one. And to make matters a whole lot worse, we don’t know anythin’ about her. It’s a risk takin’ her into the community.”

Joel can’t even believe what he’s hearing. 

“So you’d rather I just left her out there alone?”

“Look Joel, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” Tommy reminds him, quietly. “If she’s managed to survive out there all on her own for this fuckin’ long, then who the hell knows what she’s done or what kind of blood is on her hands—you might be thinkin’ that she’s some helpless little victim, but maybe she’s not. Hell, we’ll never know because the girl can’t fuckin’ talk. Or maybe she just won’t talk. Either way, we’re runnin’ a huge risk by takin’ her in without knowin’ who the hell she is or where she came from.”

Joel glares at him. “Listen here, whether she can’t talk or just won’t talk, that doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he says. He pauses briefly, long enough to take a peek back into the kitchen where you’re still sitting at the table. After she’d finished making the tea, Maria took the two steaming mugs and sat down in the chair beside you. She’s now trying almost desperately to get you to write down your name on the notepad. He immediately notices the way that you’d started wringing your hands together anxiously in your lap and he knows you’re debating in your mind whether or not you should reveal your identity to the stranger. He turns back to his brother with a frown. “She ain’t a helpless victim. She’s a survivor. She saved my fuckin’ life out there, Tommy. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead right now.”

“And where is she gonna stay?”

“With me and Ellie, of course.”

Tommy almost laughs. “Wait. You’re gonna be in charge of her? Someone who won’t fuckin’ talk to you? Whose name you don’t even know? Are you serious?”

Joel doesn’t even think twice about it. “Yeah.”

“Look Joel, I know you can be kind of a fuckin’ dumbass, but you can’t possibly be this goddamn dumb, big brother. Think ‘bout it—”

“I already have thought about it. She’s stayin’ with me.” Joel shrugs. “I know it ain’t gonna be easy, but maybe I can get her to trust me enough to talk to me.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think she can talk and she’s just choosin’ not to?”

“I think she wants to talk, but she can’t. She’s too scared right now. But if I can get her to really trust me—”

“That girl ain’t gonna fuckin’ trust you, Joel.”

“She trusted me enough to come to Jackson,” he says, fiercely. “That has to mean somethin’, I just know it does.”

Tommy exhales a long and heavy sigh. He already knew just how fucking stubborn his brother could be. There’s no changing Joel’s mind once it was made up. 

Maria steps out into the hallway. “No luck,” she tells them, shaking her head lightly. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s been through. If she’s too terrified to even give us her name—”

“It must’ve been somethin’ real bad,” Joel finishes for her. He places his hands on his hips. “I think I might have some idea of what happened to her.”

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

Joel lowers his voice as he briefly tells Tommy and Maria about the scars he’d seen around your wrist. “Like she’s been in handcuffs or somethin’,” he murmurs. “Think it could’ve been FEDRA?”

“Possibly.” Maria thinks it over for a moment. “There’s also a good possibility that she’s been a prisoner in a slave camp.”

Slavers.

Joel’s stomach churns at the thought of it. He’d heard about those kinds of groups, about the cruel and inhumane things they did to their prisoners. 

He fucking hoped that wasn’t it. But something in his gut told him not to be so goddamn naive. 

“Listen, we feel for the girl, Joel. We do,” Tommy admits. “And we’re willin’ to give her some time to adjust, same as we did with you and with Ellie—same as we do with all newcomers. But regardless of what she’s been through, she’s still gonna need to pull her weight around here, just like the rest of us. She’s expected to take on work duty just like everybody else. It’ll be hard findin’ the right job for her if she’s not gonna talk to anyone so the sooner you can get her to break her silence, the better it’ll be,” he advises. He points a finger at his brother. “From this point on, she’s your responsibility.”

“I can handle it, Tommy.”

“For your sake, I really hope you can.”

“Good to know you’ve got faith in me,” Joel makes the sarcastic comment under his breath, but he’s certain Tommy had heard it. “It’s gettin’ pretty late now. She’s exhausted and so am I. M’gonna take her back to my place and get her settled in for the night.”

“What ‘bout Ellie?”

“Best she just stays here with you two tonight. As soon as she’s up in the mornin’, you can bring her on over to mine if that’s alright with you and Maria?”

Tommy nods. “You got it, brother.”

“Besides, I figure it’ll give me a bit of extra time to think of how I’m gonna explain everythin’ to her.” Joel suddenly realizes that he hadn’t given much thought about how he was going to tell Ellie about you—how he was going to explain your condition to her and how you’d be sharing a roof with them from this point on. 

Tommy chuckles. “Yeah, good luck with that one.”

Rolling his eyes, Joel roughly shoves past him and back into the kitchen. 

You hadn’t drank the tea Maria had made you, but you’d wrapped your hands around the ceramic red mug to warm them up. 

“C’mon,” he beckons to you with his hand. “Let’s go. M’gonna take you home now.”

Home. 

The word rinds oddly in your ears.

You stand up from the table.

“Wait.” Maria picks up the notepad and pen, handing them over to you. “Here. Take these with you. Just in case you decide you want to use them.”

Joel pushes through the front door, switching on the lights in the foyer of his home before stepping aside to let you in. He watches as you stand there at the door looking rather apprehensive. “It’s okay, darlin’. S’just me and you here tonight.”

Carefully, you step over the threshold. When was the last time you’d even set foot in an actual house? One with running water and electricity?

You couldn’t remember.

Joel shuts the front door behind you and locks it. “Let’s go upstairs.” He gestures for you to follow him up the cherrywood staircase. “It’s pretty late, so I’ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow in the mornin’,” he promises you over his shoulder. At the top of the staircase, Joel switches on more lights that illuminate a short hallway. He points to a door at the end of it, stating, “That one there at the end, that’s mine. This one here is Ellie’s. We also have a third spare, it’s right across from her.” He nods with his head towards the door of the bedroom he’d been referring to. “Go on. Open it up and check it out for yourself.”

You want me to open the door?

Seeing your expression, Joel chuckles. “Go on. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ bad in there. I promise.”

You momentarily hesitate. Fingers trembling, you reach out and grasp the brass door knob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. You peek inside and flip the light switch next to the door frame.

You gasp. Holy shit, is this fucking real?

The spare bedroom is fully furnished with light oakwood furniture—a dresser up against one wall, a desk nestled in the corner, and two nightstands on either side of the most comfortable, full sized bed that you’d ever seen. The décor is minimal, but whoever had occupied the space before had a clear adoration for simple, warm, earthy tones. You nearly smile at the shades of mud brown, forest green, and autumn orange. Setting your things down on the hardwood floor, you make your way over to the bed and sit down, planting your hands firmly on either side of you. You relish in the softness of the cream colored duvet comforter. 

“I’m guessin’ you like it.” Joel can’t help but grin a little. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go see if I can get you one of my shirts or somethin’ that you can sleep in. Make yourself comfortable.” He spins around on the heel of his boot, disappearing into the hallway. 

Unable to resist, you lay back onto the bed. Your body sinks into it, melting right into the mattress. It feels like a fucking cloud. 

Joel reappears in the room just seconds later. “I can see you took what I said about makin’ yourself comfortable quite literally.” His voice causes you to shoot back up into a sitting position. Joel stands there at the door holding a long sleeved, navy and white flannel shirt in one hand—in the other, he’d been holding a gray hooded sweatshirt and from his arm swings a brown canvas tote bag. “Not too sure what you would prefer to sleep in. I figured you might want somethin’ on the warmer side. Here’s a couple options to choose from. I’ve also got t-shirts if you’d rather sleep in one of those.”

Standing up from the bed, you walk over to him and he holds out the articles of clothing for you to see better. It’s his flannel you gravitate to the most. Taking it from him, you run your fingers over the fabric.

“I can throw your clothes in the washing machine for you first thing tomorrow so they’ll be clean by the time you wake up,” he adds.

You breath out shakily.

A fucking washing machine.

“Overwhelming, ain’t it?”Joel drapes the hooded sweatshirt over a nearby chair, deciding to leave it for you as well. “Trust me, I get it. I felt the same when I first got here with Ellie. It took a lot of time for the both of us to adjust to this new way of life after being out there for so long,” he confesses to you. “The important thing is to take it one step at a time, darlin’. And somethin’ is tellin’ me the next step for you is probably takin’ a nice hot shower?”

Your mouth falls open. A hot shower? Hot?

“You’ll have to share a bathroom with Ellie.” Joel leads you out of the bedroom and to another door adjacent to yours. He shows you the bathroom, telling you which knob in the shower was for hot water and which one was for cold water. “You can use Ellie’s shampoo, m’sure she won’t mind. I’d offer you some of my own, but I don’t think you’ll wanna walk around smellin’ like sandalwood and spice.” Joel hands you the canvas bag he’d had draped over his arm. “Here. Should be pretty much everythin’ you’re gonna need. There’s a bar of soap, a couple clean washcloths, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste. There’s also a razor.” He pauses. “It’s a men’s razor, one of mine I’ve never used, but I reckon it does the job just the same as a woman’s razor.”

Amused, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What the hell are you trying to say? That I need to shave?

“Not that you have to use it,” he adds quickly, his cheeks burning bright red at what you thought he had been insinuating. He shifts awkwardly from boot to boot. “I tossed it in there just in case you’d want to, but you ain’t gotta use it, that’s not what I meant at all—”

Deciding you don’t want to see him squirm, you lift a hand up to stop him and shake your head.

Truth be told, you actually couldn’t fucking wait to shave your legs.

Calm down, cowboy. It’s all good.

Realizing he hadn’t offended you, Joel relaxes. “I’ll let you get to your shower. You take as long as you want, but just try and leave some hot water for me since I’m next,” he chuckles. “As soon as we both get all cleaned up, we can meet downstairs in the kitchen for a quick bite to eat before bed. Deal?”

Deal.

He’s about to leave you to it when you stop him, grabbing his arm. Wait a second, Joel.

Joel’s eyes meet yours. “Yeah?”

Thank you.

Your gratitude might have been silent, but it was there and he knew it. 

Feeling brave, Joel reaches up and places his hand over yours for a moment, his thumb brushing against the softness of your skin. “No need to thank me, sweetheart.” 

Letting his hand drop away from yours, Joel then turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you your privacy. 

Once you have the hot water running, you kick off your boots and start to peel off your clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor near the door. Completely naked, you turn your back towards the oval shaped mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, unwilling to take a look at the scars on your body—painful reminders of the cruel punishments you’d endured during your time in captivity. 

You grab the toiletries from the tote bag Joel had given you and set them on the side of the tub. Pulling the yellow floral curtain aside, you step into the shower and position yourself directly underneath the scalding hot water, letting it burn your skin to give you an entirely different kind of pain to think about, even if it was just for a minute until your body adjusted to the temperature of the water and it no longer hurt. 

You begin washing yourself, trying your hardest to keep from crumbling. But you couldn’t. Lump in your throat and a tightness in your chest, tears brim your eyes, ready to fall. 

You’re willing to let them. 

Two years. For almost two fucking years, you had been suppressing your emotions. You’d been in a constant survival mode, there had been no time to feel anything. And now here you were, standing in a fucking shower with all the freedom in the world to just let it all out. 

Silent sobs wrack your body, bringing you down onto your knees. 

Joel’s shower had been a quick one.

You hadn’t left him very much hot water—but he couldn’t even be mad about it.

He pulls on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He haphazardly dries off his hair and makes his way downstairs, knowing you would be heading down there any minute now to meet him like you’d agreed. Without much time to make a proper meal for you to eat, Joel goes about the dimly lit kitchen and prepares a couple of cold turkey sandwiches. He’d just plated them and set them on the table when the soft padding of bare feet on the hardwood floor prompts him to look up. 

His breath catches in his throat. You stand there in the doorway wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. The hem of it falls to the middle of your thighs, and it takes everything in him not to think about the fact that you weren’t wearing anything under his shirt. His fucking shirt.

Clearing his throat lightly, he makes sure not to let his gaze wander where it’s not supposed to. “I bet you feel a lot better, don’t you?”

You sigh softly. Oh, you have no fucking idea.

Noticing you’re holding your hands behind your back, Joel shoots you a puzzled look. “What’cha got there?”

You bring your arms forward. Clutched in your hands is the notepad and pen that Maria had given you.

Although he takes it as a sign that you are willing to communicate with him, Joel knows better than to get too far ahead of himself. He’d wait until you were ready to make the first move and he’d follow your lead. “I made you a sandwich to eat,” he tells you, pulling out a chair at the table. “C’mon, come have a seat.”

After you sit down, Joel goes over to the sink and fills two glasses of water, one for you and one for himself. Setting them down on the table, he finally takes a seat across from you—that’s when he notices the redness in your eyes. You’d been crying. Even though he wants to ask you if you’re alright, Joel decides against it for the time being and the two of you eat in comfortable, tranquil silence.

“I can make you another one if you’re still hungry,” Joel offers when you polish off the last couple bites of your sandwich. 

Shaking your head, you place your hands on your belly signaling that you’re full. You’re not, though. You’d eagerly scarf another three of them down if you could, but you were a lot more exhausted than you were hungry and you couldn’t wait to crawl into that bed upstairs and get some sleep.. 

Joel studies you. “You okay, darlin’?”

You shrug. This has just been a lot to process.

“I know it’s gonna be tough for you. It’s like I told you earlier, it’s gonna take some time to adjust to your new life here in Jackson. But I need you to know you ain’t alone anymore. I’m gonna be here to look out for you. And trust me, I know you don’t really need me to.” Joel pauses and shoots you a crooked little grin. “Hell, you took a swing at Keith. You’ve got bigger fuckin’ balls than half of the men in this town. Includin’ myself.”

You let out a huff of amusement from your nose and the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile—you don’t try to force it down. 

Joel blurts the words before he can even think to stop himself. “You’ve got a real nice smile, y’know.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you move your empty plate off to the side and grab your pen and notepad. You swiftly scribble something onto the blank page, then slide it across the table to Joel. 

He picks it up, an odd sensation fluttering inside his chest when he realizes what you had done.

You’d written down your name for him.

He says it out loud, and then looks up at you.

“That’s a real beautiful name.” Sincerity drips from his tone, going hand in hand with his compliment.

Cheeks burning, you glance down at your hands, which you’d begun wringing together on top of the table. It was out of nervousness, but this kind was different. You couldn’t quite explain it. 

“I know it’s gonna take a whole lot more than a hot shower and a sandwich to get you to trust me. But I swear that I’m gonna do whatever I can to show you that you ain’t got anythin’ to be afraid of. Not with me around. Okay?”

Okay. 

You open your mouth, trying to repeat the word back to him. 

Joel’s eyes widen slightly. You wanted to talk to him—you were actually trying to talk to him. But it was a clear struggle. Something wasn’t letting you find your voice. 

Clamping your mouth shut, you sigh and sink back into your chair. I’m sorry. I can’t.

“It’s okay,” he says, softly. “We’re gonna take this one step at a time. Together.”

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

⌗︙・⚠︎ being intimidated by love-struck and obsessed wriothesley ⚠︎ ♡⸝⸝

Wriothesley is aware of how intimidating he is.

Sometimes he doesn't even mean to be, and he feels a bit guilty about it. Given his stoic and less-than-inviting expressions, he doesn't blame the average person for flinching in his presence whenever they notice him in the vicinity. Hell, he's accidentally given the staff at some of the restaurants he frequents a bit of a fright from his tone and expression alone. And all because he had been simply inquiring about his meal, as it had taken longer than usual to be brought out.

But his seemingly unapproachable manner doesn't mean that Wriothesly doesn't attract his fair share of admirers and potential suitors. He'd have to be a fool to not see the lovestruck stares that were thrown his way by certain individuals, to not hear the hushed whispers of admirers fawning over his attractive features and squealing whenever he'd coldly glance their way for a split second. He isn't one to let all of that admiration inflate his ego, let alone pay much attention to it, to begin with. If at all, he'd rather avoid people's attention, much preferring to enjoy the quietness of solitude.

But he doesn't care about any one of them. Wriothesly only cares about you—his eyes are reserved for you and you alone.

Love-struck gazes on your form are often what he finds himself doing a good majority of his time, his heart beating so hard—so painfully loud—that he feels dizzy by just looking at you. Wriothesly looks at you as if you're the very reason he takes each breath, the reason why he wakes up and gets up out of bed, the very reason why he lives on. Sometimes if he catches himself passing by a mirror after having seen you, his cheeks and even ears are tinged with blush. To the unsuspecting eye, the dark haired male is more akin to a happy dog having received a treat for being good, his gentle smile and softened eyes making him look nothing like the intimidating man he is supposed to be.

But his lovesick puppy gazes fade away upon seeing you with somebody else, somebody else making you smile and laugh in a way that makes his belly fill with warmth but is quickly snuffed out once he remembers that your sweet laughter is not for him. Jealously rears its rotten, ugly head within Wriothesly's gaze, sick thoughts coiling to fruition within his mind. He cannot stand the thought, let alone the sight, of you interacting so merrily with someone that is not him. If looks could kill, then the bastard would have long since torn to pieces, left as a bloody pile heaped upon the ground long ago. He ends up crushing the fragile tea he'd been holding in his hand to pieces from the raw anger surging through his veins.

But it is not just possessiveness that fuels his obsession with you. It is envy—envy that others could make you laugh and grin so merrily in ways that he cannot. You are uneasy around him, unwilling to spare him one of your smiles that renders him a clumsy fool.

Self-hatred festers inside him every time you flinch in his presence, how when he does manage to ease a measly excuse of a conversation from you, you don't even look him in the eyes—the dust gathering in the dingy corner of a room is far better than looking at him. He supposes that your less-than-stellar first meeting has something to do with your wariness around him, as well as his frightening demeanor and voice—he sometimes forgets that he comes off as scary to you even if that was far from what he was intending.

But Wriothesly can only hold in his suppressed feelings for so long. He's only human, and even he has his limits too after all, no matter how standoffish and collected he appears on the surface. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in your warm embrace, bury his nose in the side of your neck and soak in the tranquility of being so intimately close to you without having to worry about scaring you off once again. Those daydreams that leave him shuddering with need and wanting more can hardly suffice anymore.

Wriothesley is uncertain for how much longer he could possibly hold in his festering feelings.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[junkdrawerfics]

Hot Head

Request: Could you write something about him and a hot headed reader who has no time for anyone's BS? Maybe reader is friends with the wolves and gets both sides in line when it comes to talking about each other, none of them dares to make rude comments about each other in front of you, you may be human but you can be low key scary when angry

Words: 1332

Warnings: None really, Paul getting smacked down verbally, me not knowing how to right someone being scary or mean.

---

If there is one thing the wolves and vampires agree on, it is to not mess with you. Not after the incident with Paul.

You grew up in Forks, a close friend to the Blacks and Clearwaters, but also the Swans. You, Jacob, and Bella would play together in the forest as kids, making mudpies and pretending to be adventurers. You were always the brave one back then, the loud one, the first one to punch someone if they picked on Bella when her parents split up.

You still are that one. The hot head.

When the Cullens came to town, you, like everyone, were attracted to the strange, other than aura surrounding them. Unlike everyone else though, you were stubborn enough to befriend them. You couldn’t help but gravitate towards Jasper, with his quiet, gentlemanly charm.

Apparently he was equally drawn to your spit-fire, bold spirit. He always says the day he decided to “court” you was the day you tore someone a new one in the hall for spreading rumors about his family. Your anger was like a fire, destructive and all-consuming, but to him, it was warmth and light, sparked from how much you care for your friends.

Jasper evened you out in ways you never thought someone could. He could bring you down from any ledge with a single touch, sometimes a single look. Things felt softer around him, you felt softer around him.

Even after learning about the Cullens being vampires and some of the Quileutes being wolves, you never felt pressured to choose a side. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe foolishness. But you kept a foot in both worlds, unwilling to give up on the friendships you had all your life.

That being said, you couldn’t tolerate the animosity between the two groups, especially from the wolves.

“I can’t believe we have to work with the leeches.”

It’s quiet, you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t standing with Jacob, talking about the battle plan Jasper has come up with. Everything felt like it was going okay. The Cullens and the Pack had made a temporary pact to protect Bella, and you thought they were all okay with it.

Your brow furrows as you look over to where Paul and Jared stand off to the side with a very confused looking Seth. The smaller boy meets your gaze, dark eyes wide. You bite down a small spark of anger.

It’s Paul, you remind yourself. He’s never happy. All bark, no bite. It’s fine.

“You never know what kind of accidents will happen in the heat of battle, though.”

It’s like being doused in lighter fluid. Anger turns to rage. Rage into a burning urge to cause the shapeshifter ungodly amounts of pain.

Not fine. Definitely not fine.

“(Y/n)...” Jacob starts, discomfort clear in his tone. 

He heard it. They all heard it. And Paul has the nerve to wear a smirk like he’s proud of his poorly veiled threat. 

Your jaw aches from how hard you grind your teeth.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you growl, body surging forward, only to be stopped by a cool hand on your arm.

You flip, eyes meeting with a pair of calm gold ones. Jasper holds on to you gently, grip loose, thumb resting over your racing pulse. He must have crossed the clearing when he sensed your rising anger. He perks a brow at you, and for a brief moment, you feel the fire dull in your veins. 

A chance to think clearly.

You take a deep breath, frustration still crackling in your lungs.

You’ve had enough. Enough of the snide comments, the ugly whispers, the looks. You’ve had enough of all of it. It’s ridiculous that they can’t just get along.

“Let go of me, Jas,” you murmur, giving him a steady look.

The vampire nods, letting you go without hesitation, and takes a few steps back. Good. You really don’t want him getting in the middle of this.

You turn back to the small group of wolves, teeth practically barred as you bark out sharply, “Hey, Lahote!”

All eyes turn towards you as you stalk up to the burly man. Paul eyes you warily, the tension in the clearing rising as you come toe to toe with him. You may only be human, but even the wolves can sense the anger boiling the air around you. The sun might as well not be out with how dark the clouds hanging over your head are.

“What, (L/n)?” He has the gaul to sound irritated.

As if he has any right.

“You want to run that by me again?” You sneer, and you can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction when he flinches minutely. “Accidents happen, huh? Is that what you said?”

“Well-”

“Shut it,” you snap, and his smile falters, lips pulling into a tight line. “Don’t make this worse by talking before you think, like you always do. You’d think the wolf brain would shift back with you, but I guess not! And you know, I’ve been working so hard to make you thick-headed idiots - not you Seth - see how ignorant you’re being. You’ve all been nothing but horrible to the Cullens!” Your scathing glare travels over the pack, and they all shift uncomfortably. “They have done nothing to deserve it. At least they try to be respectful, and they would never, never threaten one of you.” Your eyes land back on Paul, and the giant man shrinks back. “So why do you think it’s okay, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even meet your gaze. It’s like looking at a completely different person from the usually aggressive, quick to anger wolf. You can’t help but scoff.

“Yah, that’s what I thought. Grow up, Paul. I’m sick of you acting like a spoiled kid who gets away with whatever he wants. I expect better from Sam’s third in command. So why don’t you try to actually focus on your role for once so your idiotic ideas don’t get one of your packmates killed?”

By the end of your rant, your hands are practically shaking as you cross your arms over your heaving chest. It’s the only way you can stop yourself from hitting him, which wouldn’t do anything except make you feel better. 

It does help that Paul looks thoroughly kicked. His ears are tinged red, and he looks so, so angry, but also embarrassed as he just scowls at the ground. Sometimes a verbal beating is just as satisfying, this being one of those times. That done, you turn your attention to Sam. The alpha straightens up, apprehension flickering across his face.

“I better not hear anything like this again,” you order, “If you can’t at least be decent, don’t expect me to hold back. I have plenty to say, some of which I think the elders would be more than interested to hear about. Like-”

“I understand,” Sam quickly cuts you off, dark eyes narrowing as you smile all too smugly. Perks of growing up with them and knowing a lot of their secrets. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

With a satisfied nod, you feel your anger recede. It falls away just as easily as it appeared, leaving you almost unnervingly calm as you trot back to Jasper’s side. The blond watches you, eyes gleaming with pride.

“You know we can handle ourselves right?” He murmurs, amusement slanting his lips as he slips an arm around your shoulders. “Have been for a hundred years.”

You sigh and lean into him, “I know, but that doesn’t mean I need to stand by and watch them act like that. I’d do the same thing if any of you said something like that about them!”

“I’m sure, darlin’.”

“Are you teasing me?” You glare at him playfully.

His smile pulls just a smidge wider. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“I swear to God, Jasper-!”

---

I literally had no idea how to end this so I hope this works. I hope you enjoyed it! Love y'all, feels good to be writing again!

[kanri-domo]

Characters: Il Dottore, AMAB! Reader

Warnings: Non-Con, Torture, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Drugs

A tale of three failed escapes.

I.

It's dark. Dottore has no idea where he is or how he even got here. The last thing he remebered was storming off after a useless meeting, annoyance clouding his mind, fully intent on returning to his precious experiment. Yet, somehow, he was now in a dark cell, with the only light coming from behind a locked door.

With each little movement, the chains that bind him down clank. There's a cuff around his ankle and collar around his neck, both heavy and securely locked with a sturdy padlock, with chains that lead to the bedframe, which is bolted to the ground unfortunately. The chains aren't long enough for Dottore to go anywhere close to the door either, frustratingly enough.

"You're awake!" The door creaks open, finally. In enters a person Dottore does not recognize yet feels vaguely familiar.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up for so long," you complain, "I think I used too much sedative, but I was worried you'd wake up while I was still getting everything ready! Thank the archons you've enhanced yourself as much as you have - I think the dosage would've killed a normal person."

This person, Dottore thinks incredulously, is fucking crazy. To attack a harbinger - Dottore himself no less - is one thing. It's expected to for them to have some enemies, but it's whole other thing for someone to drug and kidnap one.

You prattle on for even longer, slender fingers twirling around a set of keys. Dottore stopped paying attention, no longer interested. If you were stupid enough to flaunt off the keys to his chains, then it would only be prudent for him to waste as little time necessary to escape and give you a slow death for the trouble you've caused.

The moment you walk into his range, Dottore snaps. He might be a researcher and scientist at heart, but he was the second for a reason and it doesn't take much to overpower you.

Dottore knocks you out with a strong blow to the head. It's disgusting how weak you are, he grumbles to himself, kidnapped by a stupid weakling.

As he turns around to unlock the cuffs around his ankle and neck, he fails to notice you getting back up, brushing off the blow as if it were nothing. It's not until he's shrieking in pain from an electrical shock that breaks him out of his concentration, and to his horror, face-to-face with you.

"Sorry, darling," you purr, "I'm afraid it's not going to be that easy. But hey, since you're so excited to be here, why don't we get started with lesson one?"

Dottore's vision is darkening, but he watched angrily as you place your hands around his throat and squeeze. The last thing he sees before he passes out - whether it be from the electrical shock or the lack of air, Dottore doesn't know - is the crazy glint of excitement that he'd seen in himself many times before. Dread pools in his stomach and everything goes black.

II.

Dottore was tired. There's a bone-deep tiredness that's been persisting ever since you'd kidnapped him. How long has it been? A month? Two months? No natural light enters the cell that you keep him in and the only other indicator of time passing is you coming and going.

There are bruises all over him; you liken it to adding color to a canvas, each one blooming into blues, purples, and blacks. Everything hurts. There's dried semen on his thighs and chest, but it's easier to ignore compared to everything else.

Dottore automatically stiffened at the ominous creaking of the door opening. You step in, humming cheerfully. In your hands is a tray of disgusting, horrendous slop. Dottore looks away from you, unwilling to submit himself to your whims despite the gnawing hunger.

"Ah, this game again?" You ask, amusement coloring your voice. "When will you learn," you tut. You say more words, but he's not listening, too tired to care. You roll your eyes at him before placing the slop on the ground and leaving.

The door closes behind you, but it lacks the distinctive click of the lock. The sound of footsteps getting feinter and feinter indicates you leaving though.

Dottore stares. There's no way you'd forget to lock the door... Would you?

It's dumb, and maybe it's the pain and exhaustion that fuels this escape attempt. It's so painfully obvious that it's a trap, but Dottore is nothing if not desperate.

Tugging at the chains, the loosened links came free. Hesitantly, Dottore stalked towards the door, afraid to make too much noise, lest you come back to investigate.

Peeking out the door, he sees no one. Despite the fear and the gut instinct of something feeling wrong coursing through him, Dottore refused to retreat back into the cold embrace and safety of the cell behind him. There's another door a small distance ahead, an exit perhaps?

Dottore takes his first steps towards freedom, before breaking into a run, hurrying before you come back. He would escape, he would -

A sharp pain from his head stops him in his tracks - or rather, you slam him into the wall does. Dottore sees stars and before he knows it, he's on the ground, blood bleeding out and running down his face.

"I'm going to kill you," Dottore snarls weakly, dizziness and pain quickly overtaking his senses, "I'm going to cut you into pieces and burn you alive," he slurs.

You laugh. Dottore is already weak from the time he's spent with you, and the head injury doesn't help, so it doesn't take much for you to hold him down despite his struggling. You unzip your pants, and Dottore stills.

"This is your punishment, darling," you coo as he started hyperventilating beneath you. You're not kind, Dottore had found out early on, but usually your punishments were physical, not sexual. Sex only happened after you'd coerced him into it in exchange for something else. Never as a punishment.

Your dick is objectively big, but for some reason, it feels even bigger than usual when you penetrate him. You don't bother to stretch or lube him up, and Dottore feels the lack of preparation keenly. It's painful and slow, and the whimpers the escape him would've been embarrassing if the pain of his insides rearranging themselves to make way for you wasn't as painful as it was.

By the time you bottomed out, Dottore was only moments away from passing out, but a sharp slap across the face brought him back.

"Ah - ah," you taunt, "if you black out now, I'd have to punish you even more later."

Without warning, you pull out before proceeding to slam yourself back in. Dottore howled at the suddenness, and the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and pain began to mix together as you fucked him senseless. Soon, blood slickened your movement and your roughness smoothed into a steady pace. Your hands grip onto his thin waist, nails digging into thin flesh, undoubtedly leaving even more marks. You fuck him like a ragdoll, and Dottore was helpless to stop you.

The harsh pace is unforgiving, and by the time you've cum, Dottore was extremely close to blacking out again. You cum inside him, painting his insides white. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, Dottore whined, his own cock hard, yet lacking the necessary enough stimulation to get a release.

You laugh at him, looking down on him as if he were a dumb bitch in heat. You take pity on him - or at least Dottore assumes you do - and dig your fingers into his prostate. It takes several harsh jabs before he spills all over himself, and Dottore silently curses his masochistic tendencies. But, at the very least, you seem to have had your fill, he relaxes, letting exhaustion fill him.

"This isn't the end of your punishment, unfortunately for you," You taunt, "You belong to me, and only me, you know? It seems my silly pet still wants to escape, so I need to make sure I train you well. I need to make sure you know, and your body knows, that I'm the only person who will ever love you!"

The last thing he sees is the sadistic gleam in your eyes, a familiar look that Dottore no doubt had on his own face once upon a time.

He blacks out, body aching and terror griping his heart.

The next time Dottore wakes up, he’s back in the dark, cold cell. There's something - a vibrator - in him, and he's tied down to the bed. You've taken everything: his pride, his freedom, and his dignity. You've crushed it beneath your heel and the only thing Dottore could do was laugh at the irony until he cried.

The mad scientist sobbed and screamed into the unforgiving darkness, unable to move and unknowing of when you'd return.

III.

He's wet and shivering. Archons, why was he so stupid. To run away when you loved him when you took good care of him.

Dottore was hiding in an alleyway a couple blocks away from where you'd kept him captive, not that he knew where the hell he was. It's definitely still in Snezhnaya, if the amount of snow meant anything, but it was a big enough country that Dottore still had no idea where he was.

He could go back, but... The thought of your anger, however, was enough to hesitate. Besides, he still was loyal to the Tsaritsa, and still had a duty to the Fatui... didn't he?

Angry stomps interrupted his thoughts. No, dread pools in his guts, it seems, you had already found him before Dottore could make any decision at all.

You stare at his pathetic form, face blank of any emotion.

Dottore pathetically crawled towards you, body already numb from the cold. He could salvage this, he thought desperately, you loved him, after all. You'd forgive him... Right?

"M' sorry," he mewled pathetically, clinging onto your pants, "I didn't mean to," he adds. He practically kneeling in the snow, too weak to get up, as well as trying to act as submissive as possible. The collar around his neck feels heavy, despite being only made of leather. You'd placed it there, changing it from the heavy lead to a lighter leather, calling it a reward for good behavior.

But Dottore had misbehaved, and now, you're angry.

"It seems," you sigh, and the next words that come out of your mouth freeze Dottore even more than the cold did, "that I still haven't trained you well enough."

Dottore opened his mouth - to beg, to scream, he didn't know - but before he could, the sharp jab of needle made its way into his neck, and you injected a strong sedative into him. Dottore slumped down into the snow, misery filling his wretched heart and vision darkening.

.

.

He wakes up strapped to an examination table. The table beneath him is warm, but the air is as cold as ever, and Dottore shivers. His mouth is being forced open by a ring gag and his legs were forced apart by a spreader bar. There's something huge inside of him, it stretches out his hole to a burning degree.

"Finally awake, dear?"

Dottore tilted his head to look towards you. There’re no emotions on your face, and you're holding a bottle filled with a clear liquid.

He whines, a last-ditch attempt at placating you. It's useless, he knows, it's already too late for him. The room is cold, but the trembles that wrack his body stem from fear.

You ignore him, opting to instead pour the contents of the bottle down his throat. It doesn't take long for Dottore to figure out what exactly you'd given him.

The aphrodisiac that you give him is strong. Dottore couldn't help but jerk and fight against the restraints, the burning need for stimulation becoming overwhelming.

You laugh at him, and instead of relieving him, you turn on something beside you, and in turn, the thing that's inside of him - a dildo - starts moving in and out. At first, the pace is slow, slow enough that he couldn't help but whine for more, but within moments, speeds up into a harsh pace.

"I think that should be good for now," you hum. Dottore's moans and breathy screams permeated the air. Even the slightest of touches from you were quickly becoming too much.

It doesn't take long before the first spurts of cum spill out, but the machine is unbudging, and so are you.

"A- ahh!" The need for more and feeling of too much clash, Dottore cries, feeling overwhelmed. You're laughing at him he notes out of the corner of his eye. He’s squirming against the restraints even more now, desperate to escape.

It's too much, he thinks; I'm going to die.

The machine continues to fuck him. It's going to fuck him to death, Dottore can't help but think hysterically, he's going to die here, still trapped by your love.

With another rough thrust, Dottore cums again. And again. And again. And again.

You're still watching him as the drugs wear off, as his dick softens, yet the machine still continues to thrust into his loose hole, unable to even clench down. There's no way he could cum again, but the machine continues to wring orgasm after orgasm out of him, even if no liquid spills out.

It takes one last dry orgasm before you finally stop the machine mid-thrust. Your hands softly run across his body, each feather-light touch makes him twitch and jerk, body too sensitive. With swift hands, you remove the gag. Dottore quickly snapped down, wishing he was able to rub his sore jaw.

"Well," you ask, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

Dottore trembled under your harsh stare, breaths coming out uneven and short.

You frown. You reach out to pet him on his head this time, each pet soft and kind. "You know I love you, right? I'm only doing this for your sake," you tell him, "The Fatui are no good for you. You belong here, with me."

"Look at you, so wrecked and slutty. This is what you're born for, you're a perfect whore," you add, "So give up, Zandik, I'm the only one who'll love you no matter what, so be good for me, m'kay?"

Dottore Zandik sobbed, dam bursting open, tears spilling. You were right, weren't you? His parents hadn't loved him, the Fatui hadn't cared enough to find him.

Only you would love a monster like him.

"I love you," he hears you say, and it hurts to hear. There's a part of him that's screeching, angry that you've reduced him to such a pathetic, humiliating state.

The rest of him is quiet though. He's given up. You love him, so you're only doing this for his sake, his mind rationalizes.

"Love you," he mumbles between the sobs and tears, "I love you. I'm s- sorry for running, for being no good."

You smile gently down at him, but your eyes are cruel and cold. You're satisfied by his obedience.

Zandik cried and cried, the reality of his situation finally settling in. There was no escape from you; your love was drowning him and finally, Zandik let himself be drowned.

[lady-ashfade]

My Oath

day six of celebration marathon

Percy Jackson x platonic!demigod!reader. (God of the unknown because I can’t help myself, he is a oc of mine for my pjo series)

-£ plot: Your father has learned of a new forbidden child. As his number one he sends you to do his bidding. until your loyalty is challenged.

-words: 1k

-£part two?

-£ warnings: angst, plot of murder, new plot, slight spoilers for readers father in “a love watered by blood”, god of the unknown, (Big spoilers. Reader is sent to kill Pecy) , also the song from Epic:the Troy sagas “the horse and the infant” is what this is based off of.

you were no oath breaker.

you bowed at your fathers feet as he sat upon his throne. the place you called home was dark and misty, your fathers doing, it was a place of mistrust but undying loyalty to him. it was you who was called on often as you served at his hand, you proved your worth as a demigod and you became something more when he took you into his ranks. no other gods dared to speak to him and he liked it that way, no fuss or chatting.

they had many secrets. and he could spill them all.

he hated his “family” and they knew it. wars have been taught over centuries and he picked a side with little care. but he did love secrets and nothing was kept from him even in the smallest corner in the world. every whisper was his to hear.

“what is needed of me.” your eyes stayed on the marble floor beneath your knee, your arms thrown over and await his command.

“i have found a forbidden child, again,” he picked at his nails, his body slumped against the throne.

“a son of poseidon, perseus jackson. make his death quick, but i don’t care if it’s painful.”

you slowly looked up at him, you examined his calm and carelessness behavior. a forbidden child was not unheard of to you, as you have been sent to watch a few over the many years. killing was easy for you, no harm came to your mind as the thought of displeasing your father outweighed any death you caused by your hands.

“tell me where to go.” you agreed to the quest.

earth was a strange place, especially since you grew up in a different time. though you watched the mortal realm in the mirror in your room, finding peaceful places and happy memories being created. but it was a curse, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, when your eyes closed you would dream about the horrors of life. maybe it was a way of life getting back at you for being the cause of destruction— a weapon to be used.

creeping into the apartment building, the widow was not able to keep you out since you had many tools. you’ve done things like this, sneak and kill, return and repeat at his command. you never failed— in fear of being destroyed yourself, a gods wrath was a hard punishment for anyone.

the room was dark and only the light from the moon shined in, making things noticeable. the clothes sticked to your skin from the weather that night. drawling your dagger, preparing to kill your next victim and without causing destress or a fight. but it wasn’t a man you saw. it wasn’t a bed.

it was a crib, a few shells hanging above the babes sleeping body.

stepping back in shock and hesitation you stare at the infant. he was so small. he looked healthily. how is he going to cause any harm? you couldn’t kill a child- a baby. someone unwilling to make decisions for themselves. your doubts and thoughts caused your ears to start ringing, the drums getting pressure built on them.

“I can sense you have your doubts,” the deep voice makes your body shiver and look down at the bracelet on your wrist. the only thing your father gifted you, a silver band with a mirror attached in the center. he could see what was happening anytime without fail. all mirrors are a portal for his eyes.

“He’s just a boy- what kind of threat does he pose?” you kept your voice low and hushed to not awake the mother of the babe.

“he is a forbidden child, you know what that entails. you’ve seen it with your own eyes the damage they cause, the wars started with unfair advantages. that child will grow into a soldier, cause chaos everywhere he steps and gets good people killed. you know I am right.” each point he made was the same he used before to justify his actions.

“don’t make me do this.” you plead. you’ve never begged before, never spared a life in all your years. but never, have you been sent to kill someone so innocent.

“you dare beg for his life to be spared? I have given you a order, so do it.”  your father snarled. not many times were you under his accusative tone. you could hear his voice echoing through the throne room along with a slam of his hand.

“i have done everything you asked of me,” you sounded so small in defeat, “but I can not do this.”

just like that you were willing to risk everything you have built. a place at your fathers feet, above others. a place to live and thrive. and for what? the answer is when you looked at him there is nothing to defend, nothing but a open book waiting to be filled.

“you don’t have a choice,” he roared through the mirror and you could feel the vibration. “kill him, now.” he demanded as his nails scratched at the chair he seat mighty on.

“after years of faithful service, I obeyed every order and command, I live alone each day in a room filled with people. you may have made me for a weapon to use, to do your job for you but I will no longer be a slave.” for the first time you spoke back.

“one day he will die, but not by my hands.” taking the watch on your hand and slipping it off of you, then letting it fall to the ground. the last thing you see is your father shouting at you, his face grim and frustrated. stomping your foot on the floor you break the glass, the item becomes useless.

glancing over to the babe who looked peaceful and wrapped up in a tight blanket. it’s been forever since you were this close to a baby. as a little girl you wished for a family of your own, only you had a life of a demigod.

but looking at him made you sick to your stomach. a pit of anger for the boy who had cost you everything. the world was his to explore.

you were left with no home, no family to go to. and you had broken a oath. you swore yourself to never fail a quest or go against his wishes but you had, for a son of poseidon?— world must have been coming to a end.

you tried to hate him, you really did. but there was no one left to fight for. the decision was yours to make, his life was worth more then yours could ever be. you left quickly after that, afraid you had been to loud.

and one day, you’ll meet the boy he became.

Taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669 @purplerose291

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

Framing: the first one is a panel with comically deformed faces, a "freaking out" comedic scream, it has a realistic background. It's not a "special moment," it's fanservice and a punchline (or the set up, if you consider something like Ryoga's consequent reaction the punchline). The second is an entire page with a dreamy, ethereal sort of background. The posing is comical but there's no comical deformation, Ranma's face and eyes are focused and entranced. What's happening is meant for Ranma's eyes only. Every choice communicates that this is a showstopper.

For one reason or another, Ranma being around naked girls is usually paired with some level of stress, some "look elsewhere" or "get out of this" freaking out and/or shyness (a shyness more traditionally associated with female characters). His reactions can make it feel like he's invaded/unwilling.

When we reach the doll arc, the situation should be stressful given that this is a possessed Akane trying to kill him, and yet this is the 1st time everything STOPS (a showstopper, if you will). Even if there's comedy in Ranma's reaction, someone being naked here is framed not as raunchy fanservice (that's less about Ranma and more about the reader looking at him and going "that should be ME") but as Ranma ~being seduced~

The FULL page is important. Akane's nakedness is never for "this should be happening to me" fanservice comedy, but for romantic tension (even if it's funny) so only she is framed like she's the dream girl (note that only Ranma gets that full page, how Akane is facing him and how Ranma's location censors what he's seeing. What's happening huge and just for him, not for the reader.)

What characters want/don't want is also part of the comedy (Mousse really wants to see Shampoo, so he doesn't). Ranma just wants to see Akane... so he doesn't! What happens in the doll arc is the exception because it's not really Akane. but it still shows Ranma's feelings (I'm not bringing up how much the whole eldritch nightmare of an arc sucks for Akane simply because it's not the focus of the post, but if it happened to me I would have been on the news, let me tell you)

Part of the comical misunderstandings is Akane toon-force kicking Ranma out of situations, but the intervention is to separate him from the other person (and to remove him from the situation)... but it's not because Ranma is enthralled and can't stop looking (hell, sometimes he doesn't even know what's going on). With Akane, the intervention is because he is enthralled and can't stop looking.

(this is all to convey Ranma's interest being tied to his romantic feelings. Interesting to see how it's done, becaue some form of "special framing" is applied to other situations too... like to elevate the feelings of the delusional suitors lol)

[pagannatural]

2.01

In My Time of Dying

-Dean looks like he’s witnessing a miracle when he first sees at Sam at the hospital.

-Sam can hear and/or sense Dean at least three times while Dean’s unconscious. He’s the only one. He can’t do this with anyone else at any point. Further evidence their connection is metaphysical.

-Dean references Ghost, a movie about a woman and the ghost of her lover. 👀

-Sam is appalled that John can think of anything but Dean when Dean might die, but Sam was ready to blow right past the possibility of saving John in order to get revenge last episode. One thing about Sam is that he really loves Dean more than anyone else and he won’t say it, but it comes out at times like these. I think Sam would feel pathetic if he actually said it.

-Sam is unwilling to entertain the idea of Dean dying. He sees the car and says that when he gets better he’s gonna want to fix it, and Sam knows his brother because he’s absolutely right.

He won’t let Bobby scrap Dean’s car, which is a metaphor for Dean’s life. Sam is ready to accept whatever condition Dean wakes up in. It’s also cute that Sam sees the impala as Dean’s, not John’s. It makes me wonder how many drives Dean took Sam on when they were younger, if Dean often snuck him away for little hang-outs like the fireworks. If they started lying on the hood looking at the stars when they were teenagers.

-That moment Sam says “felt like Dean” is this moment in the hallway outside of Dean’s hospital room

so what Sam is feeling as Dean is this reassuring, caretaking, determined presence promising not to leave him and promising to fight.

-The spirit board scene is one of my favorite scenes ever. What is it about this scene? There’s this sweet innocence to it, and the fact that they’re reaching across a veil to communicate because they just can’t let go of each other. It makes their relationship look really intimate and separate from everyone else. Sam saying “don’t make fun of me,” Dean grumbling that he feels like he’s at a slumber party, Dean sitting across from Sam and watching him. That moment when Dean touches the planchette, Sam is so happy to actually feel him, and Dean is in awe that he can. They need this contact.

Sam goes “it hasn’t been the same without you, Dean” and then the planchette moves and he says “Dean, what?” and then “Dean is it after you?” Sam really likes saying Dean’s name. He says it all the time. People like saying their crush’s names.

-Sam sits on Dean’s bed, his knee against Dean’s leg, and looks at Dean’s face. Ghost-Dean stands next to Sam, looking at Sam’s face. There’s something really intimate about them gazing at each other like this, with Sam not knowing Dean is looking at him too. They wouldn’t be talking so intimately if Dean were lying there looking back at Sam. Kind of like when you’re talking to someone before bed with the lights out and it feels easier to say what you mean.

-“We were just starting to be brothers again.” If this is them just getting started at being brothers again I would kill to see what they were like at their worst closest.

There’s so much in the word “brother” for them. It comes up over and over. I don’t think they ever do this with any other relationship word- neither ever tries to explain their love for John by saying “he’s my dad” with tears in their eyes. It’s like a sacred title. There’s no way they can express what they are to each other, so they use this word that’s only ever applied to each other and that carries their whole history.

The point their relationship has reached now is that Sam trusts Dean completely, Dean needs Sam, and they’re each others’ top priorities. Were they like that right up until Stanford or did something happen before then?

John wrote in his journal about them not getting along as well as they used to when Sam gets into his teens, and speculates that it’s from living in Dean’s shadow. But John was also aware that his boys had their own world that he didn’t have access to, and even very attentive parents often miss quite a bit of what’s going on with their teenage kids.

What we see in teen-era flashbacks is a Sam who resents Dean for being “cool,” a Dean being protective of Sam but also respectful. We see a girl who’s dating Dean only because she thinks maybe he’s not as much of a tool as he seems based on how sweet he is to his little brother. We have Dean and Sam burning down a field when they sneak away to light fireworks, Sam wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist in delight. And we have Sam only wanting to talk to Dean about a case over the phone-not John- and asking for Dean’s advice. They were still close. We know Sam ran away from home once and Dean was out of his mind worried before finding him.

And based on “Providence” Sam and Dean both know Sam feels some type of way about Dean, which would’ve happened pre-Stanford.

And then Sam didn’t tell Dean about Stanford and they didn’t talk for years and Dean thinks Sam must hate him and Dean hates himself but Sam looks at him like a puppy in love. And now “we were just starting to be brothers again.” I wonder what happened for them to both know why Sam isn’t interested in dating when he’s with Dean, and if it had to do with this.

-Sam asks “can you hear me” to an empty room- Ghost Dean isn’t there. It shows how alone Sam feels without Dean.

-Dean objects to dying because he thinks Sam will die without him. This would be an insane thing to think in any other circumstances but I can see why he would think that (see: the babysitting years, the fire at Stanford, etc).

-Sam loves Dean so ferociously. He fights hard for him. He’s protective of Dean to John the whole episode, and it makes me think he’s always been mad at John not just for himself but for Dean too.

-John tells Dean he will have to either save Sam or kill him. Dean’s contract with John previously was always to save and care for Sam. Now saving him has a different and more religious meaning.

-So John thanks Dean for taking care of both him and Sammy, tells him he may have to kill Sam, and then dies. Iconic.

[factsilike]

I don't know why so many people are coming to LXC's defence recently, like he never did anything wrong or never had a choice or that he was only manipulated, because 'JGY was just that good of a manipulator.'

Like no, the novel makes it clear that at several points that he was being willfully blind and ignorant of JGY's and the cultivation world's faults. The fact that LWJ and WWX found out about JGY killing NMJ after only a little bit of digging because they thought to suspect him, which Lan Xichen somehow didn't think to do despite spending close to twenty years working with him. That's a very long time, and that says more about his tendency to turn a blind eye, to not look deeper, to look away from the uncomfortable truth, than any good about JGY's manipulation abilities.

That is not to say Lan Xichen isn't a good person. He is. The problem is that he's not willing to put in the work to be good. He's unwilling to stand up to anyone. When WWX rightfully calls out JGS for trying to be the next Wen Rouhan, (about which JGY was like 'I mean, you're right, but you're not supposed to say it...."), he convenienly ignores that, opting to irrelevantly comment about how 'his heart had changed'. (Which made no sense?? LXC barely knew anything about WWX at that point!)

He's content to stay in his comfort zone, to go with the easy solution of letting others decide. If there's a problem, he'll go with the flow, and if there's a deeper ugly truth to it? He doesn't want to know about it. The situation of his parents is a perfect example. He says it himself: he doesn't want to know, and thus doesn't want to understand what happened with them.

Also for someone whose whole thing is being nice, he can be unbelievably tactless. Look at the ending events of the Guanyin Temple, where JGY is missing a limb and LXC, without thinking, asks Nie Huaisang of all people to give him medicine to heal. You know, the same Nie Huaisang who, at least to LXC's knowledge, has just learned that this same man is responsible for the death and dismemberment of his brother's body, as well as many others. And he now wants his help. To heal his brother's killer. Yikes. It's a wonder that NHS didn't immediately plan to kill LXC right then and there. And even if LXC was physically and mentally exhausted, it was still an incredibly thoughtless move.

Look at the way he laughs about NMJ (a member of the gentry) taking a third of the prey on Phoenix Mountain- "Oh typical Dage, that's just like him!"- while ignoring accusations against WWX (a son of a servant) doing the same, because he's subconsciously agreeing that it was a problem when WWX did it. He's being blatantly hypocritical and it's frustrating that he doesn't even realise it, or acknowledges it.

One of his redeeming factors can be his love for LWJ, but he's frustratingly careless about that too. For all his teasing (in which we never see LWJ indulging, he just unhappily and sulkily endures that. Teasing is not supposed to be fun or amusing if it's only one sided. Compare that to how he responds with snarky remarks to WWX's teasing, meaning he enjoys their banter) and pushing and advocating for LWJ's happiness, he never seems to deeply consider what actually makes him happy.

Everything he does for LWJ turns out to be the very opposite of what Lwj actually wants; inviting WWX and the others for the Caiyi hunt? Not what Lwj wanted, LXC merely convinced himself of that. His pushing LWJ to go talk to WWX at any chance? Doesn't ask or seem interested in why exactly LWJ would want to talk to WWX, nor help him in not letting their conversations constantly devolve into arguments. Shutting LWJ's protests at how WWX was right at the banquet with the 'his heart had changed'? Convenient for him to say, both hurting (even if it was unintended) his brother and changing the subject. And somehow everyone forgets that it was LXC who led the thirty three Lan elders to the cave after the Nightless City for Lan Wangji to fight against, for 'his own good.' And of course his whole angry, projection and deflection fuelled rant at the Guanyin Temple, where he tries to make WWX feel guilty about his brother's confession (which, you know WWX didn't remember because of the trauma clouding his memories), and make him think that he owed LWJ a relationship, which was exactly what LWJ was most afraid of.

His failings hit harder for me than any other character, because unlike JGY or XY or JGS who have no qualms about their immorality, he's supposed to be one of the good guys, a righteous clan leader who abides by honour and dignity. And yet he fails to do anything of sustenance all throughout the novel, and is a painful reminder of how easy it is to go with the wrong crowd, and that how so many 'nice' people like him exist irl, people whose willful ignorance comes at other's expense, people who want to be good but are too afraid of conflict, too set in their comfort zone to speak up against injustice, people who are all too willing to turn a blind eye and do nothing if the injustice or tragedy to others doesn't affect them.

[daddymortfest]

Daddymort MasterList 2024

Here are the submissions that made it for the Daddymort fest this year! I hope everyone had a great time and I hope that you have a great time reading!

It Was Only a Matter of Time by missriddlepotterinc

Harry comforts Animagus Voldemort after he dissociates after a difficult meeting

Prompt: Harry notices LV has been beyond stressed with being the new leader of the Wizarding World and stopping Dumbledore and his band of misfits. Well Harry can't have his sweet and loving daddy gaining more face wrinkles from stress, LV does not even have any more hair to lose! Harry knows exactly what to do!!

don't blame the stork by TheOnceandFutureQueenofTarts

Harry feels a little adrift after the war, so Magic decides he needs a baby, Magical Britain decides he needs to be Minister, and Voldemort decides he needs some company.

Daddymort Fest 2024 submission! Prompt: "Minister for Magic Harry has his hands full with raising his son, Tom, while also looking for a potential partner as a good influence on Tom. He needs someone Tom could look up to and respect, not like the failed relationships that Tom has terrorized out the door. Well maybe they've both finally met their matches when time-traveler Voldemort comes into the picture."

Stand my ground by Ciacconne

Prompt: Tom is tired that his Harry keeps treating him like a child, especially when he has been towering over Father for years now. His gentle and sweet adopted father, who he loves to show off his abilities and impress. His father who needs to stop trying to pair him up with potential life partners!! Tom is 18 now, and he is beyond ready for Harry to take his feelings and intentions seriously!

Tom was upset. Harry hadn’t given up on him and continued to pair him up with potential partners. This went on for a year and as Tom turned eighteen, he realized that he needed to stand his ground against his father and make it known to him that he wouldn’t tolerate these dates anymore. He would make sure that Harry understood his feelings and his intentions and he wasn’t going to back down.

Secrets of a Wixen Call Boy by milkandmoon

Echoing in the darkest recess of his mind, Harry heard Hermione lecture on his father complex. How, having never known his own father, he tended to fixate on older men . . . subsequently resulting in some pretty questionable romantic partners.

Really, Harry couldn’t think of a good reason not to fuck or be fucked by them.

-

Harry Potter meets Secret Diary of a London Call Girl 💋

The Purpose of the Human Heart by evaleon70 for Acnara

Prompt fill for the Daddymort fest: Something goes wrong during the resurrection. Turns out that by using Harry's blood in his ritual, Lord Voldemort becomes part of the Potter line. And as the oldest Potter alive with Harry only being 14/15, that means The Dark Lord is now... Harry Potter's closest living magical relative and in the eyes of the Ministry, his legal guardian. He now has to attend Harry's Disciplinary Hearing before the Wizengamot for performing the Patronus Charm in front of his muggle cousin.

In Body and Blood by bunnieblair

When Voldemort tried to kill Harry Potter, Lily's blood magic shield absorbed his spell. Panicked and seeing no other option, he kidnapped baby Harry, now a Horcrux (and shamelessly not dead). Unwilling to admit that he'd made a mistake, he claimed Harry as his heir, and forced his bewildered Death Eaters to raise him.

Over the years, their bond continued to grow, becoming increasingly twisted and codependent. Sharing a soul will do that to you, he supposed. It’s only natural, then, that as Harry grew up and became increasingly alluring, Voldemort would seek to deepen their bond. It’s not like they’re actually related anyway, right?

(Or: Harry attempts to seduce Daddymort with the help of his Aunty Bella. Simultaneously, Voldemort seeks the aid of two very confused Malfoy’s to advise his own seduction attempts.)

Omnia Mea by kentheslytherin

Green had always been his favorite color. Before, it had been the color of the little garden snakes that crawled out of the bushes to keep him company. Now—oh, now it was the color of his son’s eyes. His precious little boy.

“My, what a difference a single night can make,” Voldemort cooed to the sleeping child in his arms as he entered the dilapidated remains of Riddle Manor.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat=Please read the tags thoroughly. What’s stated is what you’ll get, so don’t be surprised.

But just Ourselves - and Immortality by evaleon70

By blood, by magic, by soul, Harry Potter had been deemed Lord Voldemort's son. Why did that please him so? Harry hasn't decided how he will handle this new twist in fate, but he will not be anyone's pet. If he needed to play the part of the Heir for now, then so be it.

Breathe me by Ciacconne

Prompt: As a single parent, Tom did not have an easy life. Thankfully, Harry, his son, is there to provide support. As they live their hard lives where Half bloods are discriminated against, they’ve come to rely on each other for support.

Perhaps, Harry didn’t grow up to be the child Tom wanted. He wasn’t as dedicated to studies as Tom would have liked, but he could definitely learn what he needed to learn when he put his mind to it. He also wasn’t always obedient and often tested Tom’s patience when Harry refused to do his chores or his studies and preferred to read his storybooks and play with his snake. But Harry was already growing up to be such a happy, beautiful child. Despite not wanting to be attached to anyone, Tom found himself growing to love him.

But would Harry’s own love for his father be enough to put Tom in the right path? Or would Tom become the next Dark Lord?

Harry's Ghost by chaos_bear

Harry had a ghost.

He'd had a ghost ever since he could remember. It watched over him while he slept, whispered stories in his ear about magic and castles, and promised him that one day they could be a family.

no way back by zadezy

Forty years in the past and with no plan to get back to his timeline, Harry decides to take the night off and get lost in alcohol and music. Who would have thought that decision was going to change his life like no other before.

--

Or Harry having a crisis about the person he lost his viriginity to.

My Child, My Saviour by SquibNation10

On that fateful Halloween night, Voldemort set out to vanquish his prophecised nemesis once and for all. Casting the Killing curse, he hadn't anticipated the consequences. Driven by desperation, the Dark Lord resorted to kidnapping baby Harry Potter.

The Dark Lord Planned My Wedding by SquibNation10

Lord Voldemort raised Harry and will only give him the best because only he can make him happy.

Or

Voldemort is a Dadzilla at a Drarry wedding.

Your Heart Revealed by SquibNation10

During pregnancy, the Alpha Husband's main role is to reassure the Omega Husband. All the ways Tom will try to make Harry happy while carrying their child.

Also a Gender Reveal Party

Where The Dandelion Seed Falls by SquibNation10

Tom was ready to open the Chamber of Secrets and finally reclaim his place as the rightful heir of Slytherin. He would show Malfoy and anyone who dared underestimate him that he was worthy of respect. His journey to become the great Dark Lord was about to begin.

Fate ruins his plans by dropping him a baby.

Your love is Magic, Your love is Might by SquibNation10

Voldemort gifted Harry a de-aged Sirius Black for Christmas, not knowing it would change his whole life too.

This is a story where love can be born from small decisions without intention or preparation, it will take over your (Voldemort’s) life.

The title is a twist on Voldemort's infamous "Magic is Might."

Dry Waters, Blue Summer by SquibNation10

Fenrir observes how deeply Voldemort loves their son, Harry. It is different, unconventional, but nevertheless true.

James Potter Does Not Approve by Lytri 

James had never liked Gaunt, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon. -- Based off the prompt for the daddymort fest: ‘Your son calls me daddy, too.’

Lullabies and Fireflies by Laserswordtraining

Prompt: Fathermort sings Harry back to sleep after a nightmare —-- Voldemort raises Harry after rescuing him from the Dursleys, and they stay close even as Harry goes off to Hogwarts.

Divine Violation by Soulseeker (Laserswordtraining) 

Harry's had happy childhood with his Papa, but once he discovers the truth that he's Voldemort the monster that killed his parents and hid him from the world, Harry's impudence drives Voldemort's insane obsession to disturbingly far lengths that will ensure that Harry will never be able to deny his rightful place in Voldemort's arms.

Harry finding comfort and hope through his tears despite seeing Voldemort as a loving father, liar and rapist, and ethereal mother.

Sunrise and Reality by LiquidLuckandStuff

Harry is back in the real world after being thrown into an alternate reality where he had a perfect childhood with Tom Riddle as his father. What is real, and what is a dream? He isn't sure anymore.

Harry doesn’t want to forget, but having memories of Voldemort as his father (no matter how much he was loved) is starting to be more trouble than it’s worth.

Voldemort has his own problems to worry about. Mainly, how does he kill Harry Potter after everything that has happened?

Sequel to Sunsets and Daydreams

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! All of you do fantastic work! Do you have any fics with like magical curses and true loves kiss? I don’t really care about rating. Thank you again!!

Hello! You can fics along these kinds of lines on our #fantasy au tag. Here are some curse/true love's kiss specific fics...

The Fairy Prince, the Toad and the Snake by KannaOphelia (T)

Aziraphale supposed it was interesting that his flaming sword still managed to flame while underwater, but there were better ways to find out than dropping it down a well. He craned over the side and gazed down, seeing the glimmers of red and orange, far beyond his reach. "You've done it now," said the snake, watching him from the apple tree. "I suppose I have, yes." Aziraphale wondered if he could hook a rope around it or something, and draw it up. He wasn't quite sure how it would work. "Bound to happen," the snake said, not unkindly. "Don't want to go waving a big killing thing like that around. Sssssupposed to be a weapon." A Good Omens retelling of The Frog Prince, for Fairy Tale Inspired 2021

Fairest by lilliankayl (T)

(Snow White Retelling AU) Aziraphale has no memories of his father and very few of his mother. His father died when he was an infant and his mother remarried shortly afterwards. When his mother died just before his seventeenth birthday, his stepfather’s true colors were revealed. Now on the run and taking shelter from those who will help him, Aziraphale must never let the king find him, for it will surely mean his death if he is found.

The Dragon's Greatest Treasure by Sir_Bear (T)

Once upon a time, the kingdom of Eden was protected by the eternal knights. One of these ageless warriors, the healer Raphael, disappeared hundreds of years ago after saving Sir Aziraphale’s life. Now, while escorting prince Gabriel across the kingdom, Aziraphale is captured by the dragon Crowley. The two begin to fall in love, but can a relationship like their's work, when all Crowley sees himself as is a monster, and Aziraphale feels bound by his duty to the knights? *** He shrugged his scaly shoulders, his eyes looking about as if trying to find a change of topic. “Didn’t you have a magic sword?” “Uh…” “You did, you were waving it about and everything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale’s throat made a croaking noise, unwilling to answer. “Lost it already have you?” “Gave it away…” He muttered, despite himself. “You what?” Crowley’s golden eyes went wide, tilting his huge head to the side. “They’d be in danger without it!” He burst out. “There are dangerous creatures out there, not to mention you!”

A Demon's Guide to Love and Curses by cyankelpie (G)

(Crowley has been cursed by a witch, cut off from his powers, and trapped in serpent form. Only a True Love’s Kiss can restore him to his former self. There’s just one problem: demons can’t fall in love.) “So what’s your plan?” Crowley said at last, sounding resigned. “You want me to ssslither into town, find some random human, and see if I can fall in love with them? And get them to fall for me?” “Goodness, no. That would never work.” Aziraphale crossed the floor and pulled his cloak off the coat stand. “My plan is to take you into town, and then, together, we’ll find someone for you to court.”

(Someday I'll Be) Part of Your World by Pearl09 (T)

Aziraphale is a merman who likes human things a little too much. Crowley is a human who just wants to leave the awful place he’s at. A chance meeting, a surprising rescue, lead to more than the two of them ever imagined. Would they truly risk their own souls to be with each other? And, more importantly, will they meet the necessary requirements on time to keep them? A Little Mermaid au/fusion featuring two pining idiots.

hearts and thoughts fade away (I swear I recognize your breath) by Melime (M)

Due to a clerical error, Crowley is cursed by Hell, losing his memories of the past six thousand years. Now, Aziraphale has to regain his trust and find a way to cure him, but the only way to do this is by confronting his own prejudices regarding demons' capacity to love.

- Mod D

[nolita-fairytale]

call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter one

summary: phoenix has always wanted to set up her two best friends in the navy -- ones that have, for whatever reason, still never crossed paths. that's all about to change when you get called back to TOPGUN for a special mission.

warnings: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of death, strong possibility of military inaccuracies, second person pov, no use of y/n,

wc: 4.2k

a/n: not me having the audacity to take a crack at a top gun: maverick fic. this is what happens when i watch tgm 7x in one week. a fic is born. and in my defense, this cast has so much damn chemistry how could i not?! this is a oneshot idea that turned into a series that's turned into a series and a sequel? oops. 10/10 recommend listening to the song tennessee whiskey by chris stapleton.

masterlist | the playlist | chapter two

She’s shocked but she knows better than to be surprised.

At least that’s what Phoenix reminds herself as she watches the heated interaction between Rooster and Hangman at the pool table. It can’t have been more than five minutes since Rooster’s arrival for the two of them to get into it. And the way he looked at her just a moment ago? With his smug, annoyingly handsome, overconfident face right before taking another dig at Rooster?

She hates it. 

And she hates that it made her feel something. 

She can’t put her finger on it: disgust, unadulterated rage, whatever the hell else would make you want to kiss and kill someone at the same time.

She exchanges unamused glances with Rooster once again, shaking her head in the beyond cocky fighter pilot. 

“Well, he sure hasn’t changed,” she scoffs, watching as Hangman makes his way back to the jukebox to select another song. 

“Nope. Sure hasn’t,” Rooster agrees with dismay. 

“Check it out. More badges,” Payback says, turning his attention to the way of the new arrivals. “That’s Harvard, Yale, Omaha… shit that’s Fritz.”

“What kind of mission is this?” Fanboy asks, taking note as the best of the best continue to arrive at the Hard Deck tonight.

As Phoenix asks the question everyone is wondering – who the hell the US Navy plans to teach the top 1% of fighter pilots – she notices Rooster’s disappeared from the conversation around the pool table. It doesn’t take long before someone’s cut the power to the jukebox causing a collective groan to ring out within the four walls of the Hard Deck. 

A smile creeps across Phoenix’s face as she knows exactly where Rooster’s gone. The sound of a few riffs on the piano being played catch her attention, and she excuses herself from the pool table. She joins her good friend she met at flight school, in all of his Hawaiin shirt-clad glory. 

“You missed me, Trace?” Rooster says, stealing a glance from the side of his old friend. 

“Not even a little bit,” she teases him in return. 

But Rooster understands. 

What she means is ‘yes I have,’ and ‘you could’ve called.’

The commotion of Maverick being thrown out of the bar interrupts their brief reunion, and while Phoenix watches, Rooster occupies himself with the task at hand. His large aviators that cover his eyes make it easier to ignore the fact that the closest thing he’d ever had to a father figure had been called back to North Island too. His long fingers run over the keys of the barely-in-tune piano of the Hard Deck, unwilling to acknowledge the presence of the man. Instead, he charges forward, noticing how easy it is to slip into the familiar rhythm of being back at TOPGUN. 

Outside of the bar, Jake’s having a little too much fun throwing the old aviator overboard with Payback and Coyote. As he heads back inside, he doesn’t join Payback and Fanboy at the piano with the rest of them, instead choosing to head to the bar for another round of beers. He leans back against the bar, watching as the whole bar seems wrapped in singing along to Rooster’s personal anthem. Hangman takes another swig of his beer amused by the sight. 

He’s not sure why he’s so hesitant to join in on the fun but he doesn’t move – can’t let Rooster have this one. Hangman lets his gaze linger on Phoenix from a distance as she dances (in his opinion) a little too closely for his liking to Rooster. 

He’ll never admit it, but he’s always been entranced by the woman he met at TOPGUN all those years ago at his graduation. She was a part of the incoming class, the one right behind his, and he’s not sure how, in the same damn khaki uniform as everyone else, she’s always looked this good. 

Her eyes light up as someone or something across the room catches her attention, and she’s practically jumping up, sprinting across the Hard Deck and into the arms of another naval aviator. 

And for the first time tonight, a genuine smile spreads across his lips. 

He wondered when you’d show.

As soon as he got the call, you’d texted him immediately asking if he’d gotten the same request for this mysterious special op. Earlier, when he’d watched Harvard and Yale roll in with Halo, your WSO he knew your arrival was almost moments away. But you’d never been the most punctual when it came to your personal life, so he wasn’t surprised that you were running behind. Jake chuckles to himself thinking about all the trouble you used to get into at the academy for not being on time. Almost got you kicked out a few times too, if he recalls correctly. 

It'd been too long since he’d seen you last, now that you were stationed at Lemoore. He loved teasing you about what a Californian you’d turned into, now that you’d been out of Texas. 

“Gonna start callin’ you Phoenix if you spend any more time in California, kid,” he’d teased you during your last phone call, referencing the LA native you both admired. 

But Jake’s almost forgotten about how close you are with Natasha – the three of you always circling around each other, never quite in the same place at the same time. He’s definitely forgotten (or at least tried to) the time you called him a lovesick idiot after he wouldn’t shut up about a certain fighter pilot he’d met during a certain deployment. 

What could he say? 

His first deployment with Phoenix had left… quite the impression on him… and you knew him well enough to call him out on it. 

Of course, Phoenix had wanted nothing to do with him at the time. His usual tricks – that Southern Charm and perfectly symmetrical face – only seemed to repulse her even more and he had to admit that it made him like her even more. 

“Whiskey!” she practically shouts, as Jake watches the two of you embrace. 

“Sorry I’m late. I would’ve come earlier if I knew there was a singalong,” you smirk, taking in the sigh of the more than jovial crowd huddled around the piano. “But once I hit LA traffic. Shit. That’s what I get for leaving for wanting to take my own damn car.”

“Oh I think he’s just getting started,” she replies, nodding towards Rooster. 

Before you can say anything else, before you can take a good look at the man behind the piano, Hangman’s cut your reunion-for-two short. 

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he croons, his Texas drawl prominent in the way he says each word. 

“Hangman, you son of a bitch!” you squeal, meaning the last part in the most endearing way possible. 

“Hey, kid,” he greets you with the biggest smile you’ve seen all day. 

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms. Jake picks you up, spinning you around before setting you back down on the ground as you laugh. Your public display of affection earns a few looks your way, and Phoenix pretends to vomit on the floor in response. 

You laugh again, “You think I’d get a free pass after putting up with this one for over ten years.”

“This… is something I’ll never understand,” Natasha replies, gesturing towards the space between the two of you.

“You jealous, Phoenix?” Hangman asks, a confidence behind his words.

Nat sends a snarky look his way before answering, dryly:

“Only in your dreams, Bagman.”

“You’re right about that,” he flirts shamelessly, giving her a wink. 

“Oh gross!” you say with an eye roll. You playfully punch Jake in the chest, pushing him away from you and Natasha. 

“Get your own friend. Besides, Nat and I have some catching up to do and I’m in need of a drink,” you continue, earning a groan from Jake. 

“What? I can’t watch?” he smirks, earning another fake vomit from Phoenix. 

“No, Bagman,” you tease, using the callsign you know Nat loves to demean him with. “We’re gonna talk shit about you.”

He shoots you a look, shaking his head at your snarky remark. He knows it’s out of love – at least from you. He concedes, tipping his beer towards you as a form of ‘cheers’ before taking a few steps away. 

You and Nat exchange a laugh, before linking arms and heading towards the bar.

“I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for more than five minutes,” she remarks, searching for an available bartender. 

“He’s not all that bad once you get past all the bullshit. And there’s a lot of it,” you reply honestly. 

“No thanks,” Phoenix dismisses, before flagging down Penny.

You watch as she orders the two of you a round of beers and you can’t help but find it funny how quick she was to dismiss Jake. It’s true: you’ve always thought the two of them were more alike than they were different. Sure, Jake made questionable decisions on the daily. But even after all of these years, he still had more heart than anyone you’d met this side of the Mississippi. 

“How was your trip?” you ask Phoenix, making small talk to start. 

“It was alright. Came in a few days earlier to see some family in LA first,” she answers with a shrug. 

“How’s your mom?” you ask, curiously. 

And Phoenix answers, filling you in that her mom is doing much better than the last time you talked, and her brother and his wife are moving back to LA. You tell her that you’re finally getting used to California, while the two of you wonder about this top secret, special mission that you’ve all been called back to TOPGUN for. 

“Oh! Speaking of the best of the best. Uh… my best friend is here,” she starts with a smile on her face. 

“Excuse me. I thought… I was your best friend… at least in the Navy,” you tease her. 

She rolls her eyes playfully, “No, I mean. Rooster. I’ve actually been wanting to introduce the two of you for years...”

Phoenix gestures towards the man behind the piano still going at it, and you move over to get a good look at him. He’s hot. You’ll give her that. And you’re not usually into the whole mustache thing but it somehow seems to make him even more attractive. His oversized aviators are hanging off his face as he pounds away at the keys of the piano and you can’t imagine what grown adult man would wear Hawaiin shirts by choice. 

And yet, everything about him you’d normally find cringe-worthy in a man, he seems to pull off.  

He knows it too. 

There’s a group of girls gathered around the piano that are gossiping as they watch him riff on another instrumental song. 

And boy is he eating it up: the attention, the praise, he knows he has the ears of everyone at the Hard Deck tonight. 

“The piano player. From flight school?” you question, curiously, as you begin to connect the dots. 

“Yeah!” she answers, her eyes lighting up at your immediate recognition. “Yeah that’s where we met. Reminds me of you, actually. Just the way we both clicked instantly… and you’ve both become life-long friends.”

You think back to your first deployment as a naval aviator. You and Phoenix were sent on a mission in Sarajevo and had become fast friends. At first, you wondered if you grew so close so quickly because you were the only women on that deployment, but you’d discovered over the years that your friendship with Nat was unique. While you’d usually expect a fast friendship to fizzle out, your relationship with Nat had only grown stronger over the years. 

“Hm,” you sound in response, giving Rooster another lookover. 

Nat’s other best friend. 

Sure. 

Nat’s hot other best friend. 

“What’s with the porn ‘stache?” you ask, playfully. 

She chuckles, “Long story for a different time.”

“C’mon! I’ll introduce you to everyone else,” Phoenix encourages you, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you over to the pool table with her. 

“Gentleman,” she says cooly, greeting the uniform-clad men that surround the pool table. 

“This is Whiskey,” she announces, introducing you. “Top of her class at TOPGUN and the only person on the planet that can get me to drink the worm at the bottom of a bottle of tequila.”

“Yo, I’ve heard about you,” Payback says, immediately recognizing your callsign. 

“I could say the same about you, Payback,” you reply, and he’s surprised to see you already know his callsign. “Coyote, ‘s always a pleasure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods to you. 

“Wait. You two already know each other?” Payback asks, looking from you to Coyote. 

“Texas,” you both answer at the same time, exchanging a smile.

“Us Texans gotta stick together. Especially at the top,” Coyote clarifies.

“I’m Fanboy. And this here is Harvard and Bob,” Fanboy says, finishing his introduction of at least the aviators engaged in the game at the time. 

“It’s nice to meet you two,” you reply, looking from Fanboy to Harvard. 

You notice that it seems like Rooster’s little performance has ended and the jukebox has been plugged back in. It doesn’t surprise you that Hangman’s slipped out, probably to cue up his own personal soundtrack for the night. Bob is busy lining up his pool cue, but you already know him from Lemoore. He and Fanboy continue their game, and you wonder where Halo snuck off to. 

Bob shoots his shot, missing miserably with a sigh as the rest of the aviators cry out in supportive disappointment for him.

“Bob, ya really can’t do better than that, huh?” you hear the Southern drawl of Jake heading your way. 

You and Phoenix exchange a look, knowing just how much Jake is going to enjoy picking on the little guy.  

“Let me show you how it’s really done,” Jake smirks, snatching the pool cue out of Fanboy’s hands as he struts towards the pool table. 

You decide that someone needs to humble him, and you know just how you’re going to do it. 

“Easy there, Seresin,” you say, intercepting his gait. You stand your ground, right between him and the pool table, blocking his way. 

Jake stops in his tracks, as you stand toe to toe with him, barely inches apart from each other in a battle of the egos. Coyote lets out a whistle and you can hear Phoenix and Bob snickering in the corner as they watch on. 

“You see, I can’t let you do that because… it’s my turn, actually,” you challenge him, a rebellious look on your face. “So you’re just going to have to wait for yours.”

“Damn. You gonna let her talk to you like that, Hangman?” Coyote whistles, always amused by how willing you are to throw yourself in front of the moving bus that is Jake Seresin. 

“Don’t let her fool you. Whiskey’s always been sweet on me. Ain't that right, kid?” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“HA!” you hear Nat laugh loudly, as you raise your eyebrows up at Jake.

You don’t dare break eye contact. There’s no way in hell he’s winning this one. 

He shoots you a look that says, ‘you really want to do this right now?’ and you shoot him a look that says, ‘you’re being a bully.’

“Bullshit. She’s got you by the balls, lieutenant,” Phoenix hollers. 

“And he wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say, winking in her direction. You refocus your attention back on your best friend, pressing your lips together in a thin line “Besides, we all know that Hangman here has a soft spot for women who degrade him.”

You grab the pool cue out of his hand before bringing your opposite hand to tap him twice on the cheek, eliciting another round and whoops and hollers from the group of guys. 

“Ain’t that right, Bagman?” you throw in, parroting his condescending phrase from earlier. 

Jake shakes his head, knowing that you won this one as he watches you move around the pool table to set up your next shot. Bob watches on, impressed with the way you stood up to Hangman like that, especially in defense of himself. 

“If nobody warned you, Bob, the ‘T’ in Texas stands for trouble,” Coyote remarks, nudging Bob as he settles in next to the WSO.

While you’re busy celebrating your win with Bob, Fanboy, and Phoenix, Rooster’s across the room, closing out his tab and grabbing his last beer of the night. He eyes you carefully. He’s never seen someone standup to Hangman like that, nor has he witnessed Hangman take it. He’s heard about you – remembered what Nat’s said over the years: that you were her other best friend, that you were one hell of a pilot, that he should stop making shitty decisions with women and just let her set the two of you up. 

And after what he’s seen tonight? He’s intrigued. 

You’re electric, and he’s impressed. 

What he doesn’t remember is Nat ever mentioning that you knew Hangman – let alone this well. Were you and Hangman a thing? He can see a closeness between the two of you – a kind of intimacy he’s never seen Hangman have with anyone, despite the revolving door of women he seems to keep around whenever they’ve been deployed together. But it doesn’t make sense, because why the hell would Phoenix want to set him up with someone if she were Hangman’s girl?

Rooster makes his way over to the pool table after you and Hangman’s confrontation, his lips pressed to the top of the glass bottle. 

Hangman’s hanging out on the edge of the group, flipping through something on his phone with his right hand and nursing a beer in his left. 

He doesn’t want to sound too interested, but curiosity gets the best of him as he asks, “What was that all about?”

“What?” Jake shoots back, looking up from his smartphone. 

“You and Whiskey…” Rooster says, trying not to sound too desperate for information. 

But Hangman picks up on Rooster’s interest in his best friend immediately. He smirks, knowing that his relationship with you is just another thing he can use to get under Bradshaw’s skin. 

“Spent a little time at the naval academy together, that’s all,” Hangman replies vaguely. When he’s met with silence, Jake knows that he’s got something here. He turns to his rival, scanning for a reaction on Rooster’s face. 

“What? You interested?”

Instead of answering, Rooster just shakes his head, taking another swig of his beer. It doesn’t take long for Natasha to steal Rooster away so that she can introduce the two of you, her eyes glimmering with excitement and the gears turning in her head. 

“Call it a rescue,” she mutters under breath as she drags him away from Hangman’s presence. 

Much to Nat’s disappointment, the introduction isn’t much. Just an exchange of hellos, names and callsigns before Halo comes to find you for a catch up.

The rest of the night goes on, accompanied by Hangman’s pick of tunes, and it’s filled with old friends, catch ups, and a few more rounds of pool. It’s good to be back here. In a way it feels nostalgic, and anyone would be lying if they couldn’t admit that being selected to be a part of this mission was a huge boost for the ego. While it’s cool to have some Lemoore buddies with you, it’s good to see your old friends too – the ones you don’t get to see as often – like Jake. Like Phoenix. These are bonds forged in battle, and people you’d trust with your life. 

It’s not till the end of the night that you realize that you may have had one too many, so you step out for some air. San Diego is perfect almost year round, you think, as you watch the waves crash against each other. 

“You good? I saw you slip out,” you hear a voice say. 

You’re surprised to find Rooster standing behind you, just outside of the entrance of the Hard Deck. You hadn’t gotten much time to meet him, despite Nat’s best efforts. 

“Yeah, I just think I’ve had a little too much to drink. Wanted to get some air,” you reply with a small laugh. “Thanks though. For checking in.”

“Can’t have you gettin’ into any trouble. Nat would kill me,” he says, taking a few steps toward you. 

This time, you fully turn towards him, resting your back against the railing, as he holds out a cup of water. 

“Thought you might want a glass of water too.”

“You’re a good friend. At least that’s what Nat’s said about you,” you say with a smile, taking the glass of water he’s offered you. 

“She said that?” he asks, only a little surprised. 

You nod in response. 

Rooster joins you, standing side by side, his back pressed against the railing, mirroring your body language. 

There’s a long silence between the two of you as you drink your water. After a big night of friends old and new, it’s nice to have a moment of quiet too – the waves being the only sound between the two of you. 

“So… you and Jake?” Rooster asks, interrupting your momentary shared silence. 

“Oh!” you gasp, another laugh following. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the question that makes you feel a little warmer as you contemplate how to answer his question. Between your greeting upon arrival and your standoff at the pool table, you can imagine why Rooster would think that. You can’t blame him. The two of you get mistaken as a couple all the time, especially when you’re out and about in your civvies. 

“No, there's-, there’s no me and Jake. I mean. We… met at the naval academy. He was two years ahead of me and kinda took me under his wing when he found out that I was a fellow Texan. We’ve been close friends ever since,” you clarify, trying your best to explain your uncommon friendship with Hangman. 

Rooster scoffs, a blush running across his cheeks as he mutters an unconvinced yet conceding with, “Okay.”

“What? You don’t believe me,” you ask, turning your head to watch his reaction.

“No, it’s not that! I uh… I’ve just… never seen Hangman let anyone talk to him like that. I just… made some assumptions, I guess. Sorry,” he apologizes, almost embarrassed that he asked in the first place. 

“No it’s okay,” you reassure him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder before crossing your arms over your chest. “In your defense, there was one kiss at school back in the day that ended promptly when I laughed him out of my dorm room.”

Rooster laughs, the idea of it completely contradictory to the playboy persona Hangman portrays to the world. 

“Now that’s a story I want to hear,” he smirks. 

You shake your head, “There’s not much to tell. I promise.”

“He always been this much of an ass?” Rooster asks, stealing another glance your way. 

“Oh yeah. And he’s always been this fucking annoying too,” you add playfully. 

He agrees and the two of you exchange glances again. You’re starting to see why Phoenix has raved about him all these years and you’ve barely had a real conversation with him. 

“Then why do you put up with him?” Rooster asks again, this time a little more seriously. He’s not sure why, but he really wants to hear that you don’t have feelings for Jake. 

“Because… there was a time we were both just dumb kids, y'know? Because he may be an annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit... but he's my annoying, self-centered, overconfident little shit. And I’m stuck with him,” you admit, genuinely. 

Your capacity for empathy leaves an impact on him. He’s going to be thinking about this conversation for a few days. 

“Fair enough.”

“So what’s the story behind your callsign?” he asks, changing the subject. 

You raise an eyebrow, “What’s the story behind yours?” 

Instead of answering, he just shakes his head and you laugh, knowing he’s not going to tell you. You don’t answer either, taking another sip of the water he’s brought out for you. 

*

“Hooooly shit,” Rooster marvels, watching as you pull of an extremely tricky maneuver in your two-seater F/A-18. 

It’s you and Halo paired up with Harvard as your wingman for this round of the dogfight exercise. And while you may be impressive, you’re still no match for Maverick, as he gets you with a killshot just for trying to show off. 

“You got to give it to her. That was smooth,” Fanboy admires as the rest of the aviators watch the exercise from inside the watchtower. 

Jake chuckles in response. You’ve always been full of surprises and he’s always finds it amusing when someone new discovers it. 

“Like Tennessee Whiskey, fellas,” he answers, his Texas drawl a love letter to your shared home state. 

He shakes his head watching you fly before adding:

“Some things never change.”

read: chapter two

*

A/N: HI ITS ME. How're feeling up in this club and why is everyone so hot and have so much sexual tension? Anyways... should I continue this or nah??

[ghostlygeto]

never going to be | geto suguru

pairing: geto suguru x fem!reader

warnings: hurt/no comfort, spoilers?? bc half based on the street scene from s2 ep5 but no gojo, talks of death + killing, i’ve never written jjk before sorry if it’s obvious. potential for part two, who knows wif me :3, proof read but it was 7am so i probably missed stuff!

wc: 1.4k

there were several people geto would have anticipated shoko calling after seeing him on the street. he assumed it to be gojo, knowing his best friend would show up and likely give him an ear full. he was ready for it, he had been preparing himself to see satoru since the second he made this choice.

he listened to shoko’s one sided conversation for a little while before she hung up and gave him a smile. “care to wait here with me? someone’s on their way, they want to see you.”

silence fell between the two, geto staring down at his shorter friend and she stared into the crowd, leaning against a pole behind her. he decided to stay, at least for a few minutes. to talk with her.

“you can ask about it,” geto closes his eyes and sighs, “i know you want to.”

“you wouldn’t have run away if it wasn’t true, we all know,” shoko responded, taking a drag of her cigarette, “he was devastated when he found out.”

geto shifted uncomfortably, “i knew he would be.” he waited a second, wondering if he should even ask his next question. “what about-”

“ask her yourself,” shoko threw the unfinished cigarette onto the concrete and stepped on it. “if you get the chance.”

confused could barely sum up how geto felt as his friend started walking away from him. still, he stayed silent, not calling out to her in fear that she’d say something he didn’t want to hear. geto understood the consequences of his actions, the moment he made up his mind he knew that he’d have to abandon everything. jujutsu tech, his friends, you.

it felt almost like a dream when you called out for him. for some reason you were the last person he had expected shoko to call when she found him. but there you were, standing a few feet away from him in your school uniform with tears in your eyes and breathing heavily. you had to have ran all the way here from the school.

“what’re you doing here?” geto tried to keep a straight face, pretend that his heart didn’t ache seeing you. as much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were the hardest part about the decision he made.

leaving you, his girlfriend that had been by his side for as long as he could remember, behind had to be the worst. the two of you had been together since close to the beginning of your first year, you had spent close to every day together since then.

you were his everything. and he was yours, you would do anything for him. you always had and swore you always would. you always tried to fix things for him, covering for him and lying when you didn’t need to to help keep him out of trouble where you could.

which was exactly why you were the last person shoko should’ve called.

“come back, suguru,” you tried to keep your voice stable, unwilling to let him see you cry. you were always so brave, yet another thing he admired about you. “i’ll talk to them, i’ll convince them it’s all just a misunderstan-”

“there is no misunderstanding, y/n,” you hated the way his voice sounded. cold, distant, unbothered. he was trying to shut you out, “the things they’ve said about me are true. i did those things, don’t you understand?”

geto wouldn’t even look at you, and you weren’t sure if it had been for your sake or his. if he looked at you now, he’d see your big eyes staring up at him, tears filled to the brim. and he’d break. he would have to hold you, apologize and beg for your forgiveness. but he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, deep down he hoped you knew that too.

“there has to be something else to it, something you’re not telling us,” you grab into the sleeve of his shirt, forcing him to keep still. he keeps trying to walk away from you. “just tell me the truth suguru, please.”

“what you heard is the truth, y/n. i killed the non-sorcerers. i want to create a world without cursed. the only way to do that is to kill everyone who can’t control it,” he wanted to tear his arm away from your grasp but he couldn’t. your fingers burned the skin on his hand that they had grazed against, so softly it almost hurt. “this is the path i’ve chosen.”

you weren’t sure what to to, or what to say. you didn’t want to accept the fact that he did this. your suguru could never, he was sweet and kind and gentle. but the man before you, that spoke to you in a harsh tone and wouldn’t even look you in the eyes, he somehow seemed to only be a shell. he was not geto suguru.

“take me with you, then. let me do this along side you.”

your words shook him to his core, causing him to finally look you in the eyes. “you’re insane. i could never let you throw everything away like that.” the look he was giving you felt like a combination of anger and disgust, one that almost made you cower in fear. “you’ve got too much going for you there. you’re not doing this with me.”

“and you don’t?” you raised your voice, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger, “you don’t have too much going for you there? you’re going to throw away everything. your friendships with shoko and gojo, your future. our future?”

“this is my future! can’t you see that!” geto surprised himself with how loud his voice came out, not intending to yell at you the way he was. but he couldn’t believe you would say something like that. “i’m creating a better future. for us, y/n. a world without non-sorcerers is a world without curses. a safer world for all of us.”

his words made you feel sick. you were born, chosen, to be a sorcerer to help the people who couldn’t control their cursed energy. how could he turn his back to them like that? how could he turn his back to you?

“if you won’t take me with you, i want you to kill me.” your voice shook, filled with uncertainty and heartbreak.

“what?”

“i don’t want to do this without you, suguru. i can’t. gojo and shoko will understand, i know they will. and you can’t get in trouble if i asked you to do it,” fat tears rolls down your cheeks as you moved your hands to try and wipe them away. though your efforts were worth nothing, because they were quickly replaced with more. “you are my everything.”

geto hesitated for a second. bringing you alongside him was off the table, in no world could he do that to you. the road ahead of him would be harsh and cruel, not something meant for someone as kind and gentle as you. you didn’t need nor deserve that. but to kill you? the only person he’s sure he will ever love?

but how could he deny you this one last thing?

“okay.” your heart freezes at his answer, though you’re almost relieved. “close your eyes. count to ten, don’t open them.”

you did as told, squeezing your eyes closed as you counted to ten in your head. with each number, you gripped the button from his school uniform tighter. gojo had given it to you, saying they found it at the remnants of his crime. muttering something about how “you should have it” before shoving it against your chest and leaving to his room.

when you reached the number ten and nothing happened, you opened one of your eyes. you half expected to see any number of his deadly curses right in front of you, begging to see the look of fear on your face before killing you. or to see him still standing there, to tell you that he’d changed his mind and he’d rather take you with him.

but instead you were met with emptiness. geto suguru nowhere in sight, leaving you alone in the middle of a now quiet street. not absorbed by darkness as you had wanted, but devastated by the idea that maybe geto was always destined to leave. he had now left everyone that cared for him, maybe leaving had been the only card he would ever be dealt. you may have loved him, but it wasn’t enough.

it was never going to be.

reblogs, comments, nd likes appreciated!! <3

[shadow-pixelle]

Here's a random DCxDP snippet!

Wrote this on Monday. Was gonna post it yesterday and then kinda... forgot. It's a completely disconnected snippet- that is, I have no context for what's going on here, what kind of AU it is, or much of anything else at all. Also currently have no plans to try and expand it, though I might mess with it in the future when I have time? We'll see.

Honestly 80% of the reason I'm posting this is because I sent it to Kali and absolutely devastated her with the worldbuilding, so shrug.

--

“I need you to understand,” Danny said, gripping the side of the table. Tucker put a hand on his shoulder for support, and he leaned into it slightly, being very careful to keep his focus on any Bat other than Hood. “And I mean really understand, that this isn’t just- a crime. It’s not that simple.”

“Phantom…?” Red Robin sounded confused, and slightly wary.

Danny couldn’t blame him, given the situation. Ancients, Danny had just had to give up his secret identity just to make sure he didn’t try and kidnap a Bat. Nothing about this situation was normal or reasonable.

“The Infinite Realms has a lot of beings in it.” Tucker said carefully, and Danny could kiss him for being willing to lead the conversation. “Like, a lot. And they’re all ghosts in some form. But the thing about ghosts is that they can’t be killed. They’re already dead, or- like, similar to dead? The only thing you can do to stop them is imprison them or End them.”

“And Ending someone is serious.” Sam took over, stepping forward to lean into Danny’s side. “Ending someone… nothing comes back for that. When we say Ended, we mean it. There is nothing left.”

“The previous Ghost King was a being called Pariah Dark.” Danny began, fixing his eyes on Batman for someone to focus on. “He was insane, a tyrant and a conqueror. Violent. Unwilling to compromise. Anyone who stood in his way was dealt with, one way or another. He wanted to claim everything.”

“No-one tried to stop him?”

Danny’s eyes flicked to Nightwing as Tucker laughed, raw and exhausted. “He was the Ghost King. He ruled the entire Infinite Realms. He carried the sort of power that gods dream of.”

“The Ghost King can force his word, his Rule, on pretty much every being in the Realms. As close to absolute power as you can get, in the end. Everything in the Realms is made from ectoplasm, and the Ghost King can manipulate that at levels most people can’t even start to believe. There’s only two types of beings that can even try to resist that.”

“One’s the Ancients. They’re old ghosts, the oldest you can get. Incarnations of gods, concepts, things like that. But the problem with that is that they’re also limited, kinda. They can disobey the Crown, no matter what sort of Rules it puts out, but fighting back? They can stop him, sure, that’s how Pariah Dark got sealed away the first time, but they can’t stop him being King. They can’t take the Crown, even if they win. They’re bound too much to the things they incarnate, the gods they were and are. They can’t be the Ghost King. Those ties stop them being as firmly Ruled over, but it means they can’t take the Crown away. All they can do is delay it.”

“The second,” Danny took over again from his friends, grateful for their support, as the various Bats around the room looked horrified. Afraid. And for good reason, really.

It was only going to get worse.

“The second were beings called Halfas.”

A breath.

“Halfas are the only beings in the entire Infinite Realms that aren’t entirely ecto. Not alone. They’re… well. Half.”

“Half beings.”

“Half living, half dead.”

“And because of that, they’re the Balance.” Danny leaned into Sam, letting Tucker step closer again. “Equally alive and dead. Equally bound to their ecto and not. Halfas were the Balance because they cannot be Ruled.”

“From what we understand, Halfas were created by the Realms itself.” Sam said quietly. “They existed to be the Balance. Slipping from living to dead to living whenever they wanted, all the powers of a ghost and all the benefits of a living being mixed into one.”

“They were rare, because they couldn’t be killed. Kill the human side, and the ghost half keeps them alive until they recover. You can’t kill a ghost, and anything that could contain a ghost, the human side walks right out of. They were there as Balance, between the living and the dead. Advisors to the Ghost King, helping to keep things smooth between the living and the dead whenever they had to interact. Balance. Beings that couldn’t be Ruled by the Ghost King because they were as much alive as ecto.”

“They were there to stop tyrants.”

Tucker nodded at Robin’s quiet voice, and paused. It was an offer to Danny, he knew, to take this part as well. He and Sam knew everything about this. Danny didn’t need to be the one to explain.

He spoke up. “From what records say, there were around six thousand Halfas at the start of Pariah Dark’s reign.” He told them. “They were the Balance. They saw what Pariah Dark was doing and had a duty to stop it. Up until ten years ago, there were no Halfas in existence.”

The group seemed to pale.

“Halfas can’t be killed, but anything can be Ended.” He said quietly. “Pariah Dark went around every single Halfa that came to stop him, and he destroyed them so utterly that they cannot exist any more. Not as ambient ectoplasm in the Realms, not as shades or smaller spirits, not as a being in the reincarnation cycle waiting to live and die. Every single one of those Halfas no longer exists, because he destroyed everything that made them them and then destroyed all the remaining pieces as well.

“Dark Pariah was a tyrant. And he was the reason that I learned everything about my entire species from second or third hand knowledge. Everything that I know about myself? I either figured it out myself, found it in some of the few books that still exist about Halfas, or heard it from the Ancients. And those last two didn’t know much at all, in the end. Halfas were so rare that the only thing most beings got were rumours, and the Ancients weren’t an exception to that, and not many Halfas ever bothered to write things down about themselves and their powers. They couldn’t die, after all.”

Danny shivered, a little. Sam and Tucker leaned in more on either side, keeping him upright as much as the table was. None of the Bats were moving.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to understand,” he said again. “Pariah Dark was a tyrant. A nightmare. The worst thing to happen to the Realms ever. He committed so many genocides that there aren’t records of it any more, and the only silver lining,” he spat the words, mocking, because there is no silver lining in senseless slaughter, “Is that all but one of these were against the living. They were allowed to exist as ghosts. Pariah Dark was a monster.”

Danny wrenched his eyes away from Batman and looked directly at Red Hood. He pushed down the impulse to take him away, to hide him, to get him to Frostbite for help and maul and destroy anyone who got in his way, who tried to threaten him-

He pushed down his shudder, and looked Red Hood directly in the eyes.

“Pariah Dark was a monster, and even he would consider what was done to you unforgivable.”

Hood jolted. So did the rest of the Bats, looking for all the world like they’d just restarted breathing again, no longer frozen in time.

“We can’t explain to you what we’re seeing.” Sam said from his side, and she sounded almost apologetic. “It’s- literally, there are no words in any living language to explain what it looks like. And we’re only Liminal, a little bit dead. We don’t see as clearly as beings like Phantom do. But it’s-”

Words seemed to fail her, and Tucker reached around Danny’s back to squeeze her shoulder in comfort.

Danny tried, pulling his eyes away from Hood again so he could think past the urge to steal him away and hide him somewhere safe. “It’s like I’m looking at a baby.” He tried to explain. “Or- I don’t know. A puppy? Whatever cute little thing you want to go with. Something small and delicate and needing to be looked after. Something that shouldn’t be on it’s own, because it’s too young to survive. Like someone took a premature puppy, and then just.” He paused. Gestured. “Just mutilated it. Whatever horrible things you can think of, the most evil things you can imagine at all, just. All of that. And then left it crying in the trash to rot and die, except it can’t die.”

None of the Bats that he could see out of the corner of his eye look well. Hood was-

His core, the half-mangled thing that was barely there, barely able to exist and yet still trying desperately to survive, was shrieking in horror.

“Phantom’s a Protection spirit.” Sam murmured, into the silence of that. “He’s a guardian, every instinct he has is aimed at keeping people safe.”

“I can’t look at you right now.” Danny confessed to that tiny lost child. “If I look at you too long, I just- Every instinct I have is telling me to get you away, to take you back to the Realms and hide you somewhere safe while I get a doctor or twelve, and that if anyone else gets even close to you they need to be mauled. I transformed because those instincts were even worse in ghost form, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone who wasn’t responsible for this.”

“I want to wrap them up in vines and strangle them.”

“I’d kinda like to suffocate all of them in sand and then mount them on a wall or something.”

“And they’re Liminal.” Danny added. “They’re not even fully dead, barely even dead at all. Any being of the Realms that sees you is going to want to help, or at least get vengeance, because it’s-

“It’s not even something Pariah Dark would do, and he committed a genocide of an entire people just because he didn’t want to be held accountable and couldn’t stand having people he couldn’t control in the Realms.”

For a long, long moment, no-one spoke. None of them even seemed to be breathing.

Danny flickered his eyes across Hood one more time, then focused on Batman again.

“So,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I’d quite like to know who did that to him. Because my next step is going to be to call the Council, get war declared on them, and then erase them.”